


Our Children Were Our Soldiers (All the Things We've Done)

by Goethicite



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Multi, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goethicite/pseuds/Goethicite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My tidied up fills from the Pacific Rim Kink Meme and other short stories.  See individual chapters for warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Childish Things Covered in Dust (5 Things+1)

**Author's Note:**

> Pacific Rim is where I was hiding when I was stuck in a hotel room for work. These are what I was writing when I should have been working on Fletchersverse.
> 
> Warnings: I feel Australians should be a warning here for the language. Dubcon touching.
> 
> Original Prompt and Fill Here:  
> http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/350.html?thread=1014622t1014622

1.  
"What are you doing?" Chuck asked, voice rising to as he scrambled away from the handsy woman. "Stop bloody touching me!" He felt a nervous spike that wasn't his own, Dad reaching out to check through the ghost drift that always lingered in the back of their minds.

The woman raised her hands, startled. "Shit, boy," she drawled out, American. "I was just being friendly."

"Sticking your hand there isn't half friendly, ya fuckwit!" Chuck growled sarcastically, putting his back to the wall.

She sneered a little, about to retort, when Herc banged on the leg of the Jaeger only an inch from her head with his fist. "He's sixteen. Get out."

"Shit," the woman said succinctly, turning on heel and fleeing.

"What ya do that for?" Chuck demanded, straightening up. "She wasn't gonna hurt me!"

Herc didn't bother replying, throwing a drivesuit helmet at Chuck. "Get suited up. We're going out on patrol." Chuck shut up. There was nothing he loved more than being in a Jaeger. Nothing gentler or more satisfying than sliding into Dad's head and Striker's body.

Strapped securely in Striker, neural handshake initiated, Chuck let the tension he'd been holding drain away as the pool of memories he and Herc shared flashed by. Today, they lingered on Mum, Dad's hands on her skin, missing her. Chuck let them flow honey smooth, aching to drift with her like he did with Dad. He imagined that Striker would mold as perfectly to her as it did to them.

Herc Hansen saved his fury at the aviation mechanic who had propositioned his son for after patrol. He tracked down the squadron she supported and warned them all off from Striker Eureka's launch bay. Then he stopped by personnel quarters and gave Striker’s lead technician a brief summation of what happened and the woman’s description. Carpenter promised to run the bitch out on a rail if she came around again. Only then did allow himself to break into the bottle of vodka the Russians had given him and process that his son believed absolutely he never wanted to have sex since drifting was the closest you could be to someone.

2.  
"Jesus," Chuck yelled as Romeo Blue toppled. "Mackie, Trev!" His anger sent a matching adrenaline surge through Herc. Striker lunged forward, blocking the kaiju's killing strike towards the downed Jaeger.

Striker grappled the beast. Arms twisting, the Jaeger tried to break the kaiju's neck. The kaiju, as it died, snaked out it's spiked, prehensile tail and smashed Big Blue's conn-pod. Chuck howled. Herc surged forward over their bond to keep Chuck from over-extending Striker as the Jaeger tore the kaiju apart.

"Save it," Herc ordered his son sharply. Striker dropped the kaiju pieces and turned to start back to shore. They didn't say anything else until they came out of the drift.

"What the fuck was that?" Herc snarled, turning on his son.

Chuck ripped off his own helmet. His face shone with the thin, sheen of relay gel that was left over when the suit wasn't left on long enough to drain properly. "Nothing! Fuck!" He threw his helmet against the wall of the conn-pod, struggling free of the straps. "Fuck!"

Herc unhooked himself from the harness and paused to stare. Chuck had been raised in the conn-pod of a Jaeger. The hook-ins, hook-ups, and safety webbing were more comfortable than a clean bed to the boy. But Chuck was fumbling as he freed himself.

"Son?" Herc stepped forward and tugged apart the hook-up Chuck had tangled around himself.

"I can do that!" Chuck all but screamed. Herc stared at the tears sitting on top of water resistant relay gel.

"Chuck…"

"Shut up!" Chuck yanked himself free. He smeared the gel, tears, and snot across his face with his still gloved hands.

There was a hollow clatter against Striker's deck. Herc stared at the cheap, cast plastic figure of Romeo Blue he'd given his son when the Jaeger toys had first come out. It had been jarred loose from its hiding place between two armor plates by Chuck’s clumsy tugging. Chuck, still desperately trying to hide his tears, left it there as he exited the conn-pod. Herc took off his glove and picked up the figurine. It was just big enough for a twelve year old Chuck to have wrapped his hand entirely around, small enough that it disappeared in the palm of an eighteen year old boy. The plastic was body hot and greasy from being pressed up against skin.

Herc tucked it between his circuit suit and the armor on his chest for safekeeping. Chuck was angry right now, but when he calmed down, he'd want it back. The kid had never had so much he was willing to leave any of his things behind.

3.  
Lynn woke up her door ringing like a bell from the pounding it was taking. "Shit," she growled, glancing at blue numbers on her clock. It was eight thirty in morning. She wasn't on shift until eight in the evening and had stumbled to bed less than two hours ago. There was no tell-tale scream of sirens making this an official wake-up call. "Fuck off, wanker!" Lynn bellowed at door, pulling her thin pillow over her head, "'fore I give ya a gobful."

"Lynnie?" Chuck Hansen asked in a high, cracking voice. He hadn't called her that since he came back from Ranger training. "Lynnie, I need help!"

"Fuck you for a fool, ya shameless Jaeger moll," Lynn muttered to herself as she dragged her aching body out of bed and groped around for a pair of pants. Her night shirt was two sizes too large, and Chuck had seen her without a bra before. If Hansen Senior wanted to pitch a fit over her outfit after his kid woke her up off shift, she'd kick his ass. "Gimme a moment, sprog." She pulled last shift's pants over her hips, buttoning them up but leaving the belt hanging loose. Then she opened the door. "Okay, Little Red, what the hell do you want?"

The boy, usually eerily put together and professional, was shaking. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was out of uniform. "Your mum and sister are animal docs, right? You said you used to help your mum at work?"

"Ya didn't have to wake me up to ask me about my family, but yeah," Lynn groaned. "I worked at the clinic."

"Max is sick," Chuck gasped out, swallowing after the words like he could take them back.

Lynn froze. "Did you take him to the infirmary?"

Nodding, Chuck whispered, "The doctor on duty said he didn't treat dogs."

"Okay," Lynn said, reaching for her utility belt and jacket. "I'll come take a butcher’s." She buckled the belt of her pants, snapped her tool belt over her hips, and tossed the jacket over her shoulder before following mini Hansen down the hall to the pilots' quarters. Hansen senior was out playing second in command. So mini Hansen had tucked Max in his father's bed. A plate of kibble, another of canned meat scraps, and bowl of water with a needleless syringe in it sat on the night stand. A basket full of towels that reeked to high heaven was next to the side of the bed, with a clean stack of linens on the opposite end.

The bulldog raised his head listlessly when he heard his boy. Chuck immediately settled on the bed, curling around his dog and his father's pillow. "Okay," Lynn said quietly, toning down her usually brash tones to sooth both boy and dog. "List the symptoms."

The boy rattled off the common list of vomiting, diarrhea, lethargy, lack of appetite. Lynn examined the dog, pausing when she saw a faint, yellow tinge in the whites of Max's eyes. "Okay, Little Red, find me a plastic cup. I need a urine sample to test. Then I'll know how to fix him, okay?" She couldn't help herself, reaching a hand out to smooth the brat's hair. It was so easy to forget how /young/ Chuck Hansen was, that his only real friend in the world was Max.

While Chuck took Max to the news paper lined box in the corner of the room to get the urine sample, Lynn started making calls. She fucked the German in charge of third shift ground security on a regular basis. He was happy to storm the infirmary with her for the promise of a blow job. The other two technicians and the Jaeger engineer she called had been with Striker Eureka since the beginning.

Lynn's troops gathered in the hall outside the Hansen's quarters. Carrying the sealed container of dog urine, Lynn went out to meet them. "Max is sick," she said evenly to the three tired men and pissed off woman in front of her. "It's bad. If he isn't treated he might die. The doc on duty already refused to try."

"What about Little Red?" the engineer said, his broad, working class accent. "The sprog doesn't have a thing in the world that isn't the mutt."

Lynn smiled grimly. "I know. I think I can treat, Max. But I'm going to need access to the infirmary."

Herc came back home to one of his technicians and German he was pretty sure was actually base security exiting his quarters. He stepped around them and into the room. His side of the room had been converted into a hospital room, complete with IV stands and rolling metal trays. The IV lines were attached to Max, who slept peacefully curled in Chuck's arms on Herc's bed. Settled in a chair next to the bed was Lynn Carpenter, Striker's senior technician and Jaeger engineer. Herc had known her since they'd met on the Mark III project. When he touched her shoulder she stirred and groaned. "Fuck… my back."

"What hell happened here Carpenter?" Herc asked, keeping his voice low so Chuck and Max wouldn't be disturbed.

"Max's sick," Carpenter mumbled thickly. "Infirmary wouldn't treat 'im. So me and the boys got some supplies and did the job ourselves." She stumbled to her feet, leaning against the chair to find her balance. "Dog wasn't too bad off before the sprog asked for help. The IV is just to make Little Red feel better." She gestured for Herc to take the seat. "Now that you're back, I'm going to bed. If it isn't a Cat Four, don't wake me up." She stopped by the bed to ruffle Chuck's hair.

The kid stirred briefly, muttering, "Love you, Lynnie" before settling back to dozing.

"Love you too, sprog," Carpenter said in the idle way you spoke to a child.

4.  
Mako remembered the first time she'd met Chuck. Squadron Leader Hansen had brought his son to meeting with Sensei. He was about her age, but already wore overly large air force fatigues and boots. Mako sat next to Sensei at the table on a stack of thick paper manuals to raise herself far enough she could take notes comfortably. Chuck stood at his father's shoulder in the at-ease position, watching Sensei intently. The boy had brought a puppy with him, tied to his belt by a length of paracord. The puppy settled quietly next to Chuck's foot.

The meeting was rather dull, logistics for supplying the latest batch of Ranger trainees with up to date gear. Afterwards, Sensei told her to go up to the runway on top of the Shatterdome. A small area had been cordoned off for her and Chuck. She and Chuck were told to play while Sensei and Squadron Leader Hansen spoke privately. It was a nice day, sunny with a cool breeze. Mako stood in the center of the flat, concrete pad they'd been given and looked out over the ocean. Awkwardly, Chuck walked over to see what she saw, Max the dog trailing behind him. Not sure what to say, Mako stayed quiet, willing the seas to stay smooth and calm.

"Want to play Jaeger pilots?" Chuck said abruptly, turning towards her. His face was twisted in something like a snarl. Mako flinched back, raising her hands smoothly to her waist, preparing to defend herself. Chuck's face crumpled as he recognized the form. "Oh. Okay." He turned back to the water.

Hesitantly, Mako mouthed the English words she wanted before raising her voice to speak them aloud, "How do you play… Jaeger pilots?"

Chuck's smile lit up his face, the stormy expression gone. "You try to do katas and stuff in sync. Like you're piloting a Jaeger. Whoever messes up first loses."

"Okay." Mako resolutely took off her jacket. "How do we stand?"

They positioned themselves side by side, falling into a simple pilot training form together. Mako learned the easiest way to make Chuck fall out of sync was sweeping motions that would tangle him in Max's leash. In return, Chuck would take longer steps than she could, smirking when she unbalanced.

"Herc," Stacker said seriously as he watched their children. "That boy is too young for the program." Mako swiveled, curving her arm down in a block that tangled Chuck's fingers in the rope. The two children reset themselves and began again. Stacker recognized the kata as the first Jaeger pilots learned. "Did you teach him that?"

Hurt, Herc snarled a little as he responded, "He learned that by watching me. I never taught him anything, Stacker. He does it himself. If you don't let him get the right training, he'll train himself too soon."

Stacker frowned deeply but didn't continue to expound on his obvious discomfort. "He's your son. I won't refuse him if he can pass the entrance exams, but he's your son, Herc." Herc didn't reply, jaw stiff as he watched Chuck reach out to correct Mako's stance.

5.  
They pulled Chuck Hansen's body out of the Pacific three days after the apocalypse was canceled. Lynn was there to recover what she could of Striker Eureka, but she never thought it would include one of the Jaeger's pilots. Little Red (neither little nor red anymore) looked like he was sleeping through the safety glass. Lynn pressed her fingers over his hair. Waiting like Snow White waiting for his prince, she could have sworn he was the little boy who used to tug on her tool belt when he had a question about Jaegers.

Cho, the local ring-in for rescue ops since Hansen senior (only Hansen now) was too high and might to run the circus, murmured, "Is best leave him there. Will smell if we open."

"Fuck off," Lynn said flatly, straddling the coffin and yanking her whole weight against the emergency release. "I've known this boy since he played with plastic Jaegers. I'm not leaving him to rot in a glass case like a roadside freak show." The top of the pod flew one way. Lynn flew the other, metal handle still clutched in her hand. "Fuck!"

Rubbing her bruised arse, Lynn stumbled to her feet, daring anyone to say anything. Everyone kept quiet as she walked over and dragged Hansen's son out of the pod. The sprog was heavy in his drivesuit. She was panting by the time she'd gotten his legs clear. Chuck had lost his helmet somewhere. His sweat-stiff hair rippled in the sea breeze. With a sigh, Lynn reached down to ruffle it one last time. The scalp beneath was still supple and just warm to the touch.

"He's alive!" Lynn shouted, closer to a shriek than she cared to admit. "Little Red's alive!" She dropped to her knees and ran her fingers over his armor. She needed to get it off carefully. God knew what damage was hiding beneath the plates.

"Impossible," Cho said, kneeling next to her. Then he let out a stream of Chinese to the other workers.

"Fuck you," Lynn said again. "I helped clean up Sydney. I fucking well know the difference between all dead and mostly dead."

Cho pressed his fingers to the kid's throat. "Alive," he agreed with a wide smile. "I call Shatterdome."

"You do that," Lynn barked. "And tell Hansen to be on deck when we get back!" She pulled the sprog into her lap and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist like she was showing him how to free climb a Jaeger again.

Cho returned from calling the Shatterdome. The boat was already turning back, engines throbbing as the captain raced for the life of the kid they were already calling the world's greatest Jaeger pilot and youngest hero. The man gripped one of Chuck's hands and said intently, "You too young to die. Break proud papa's heart loosing baby."

Lynn closed her eyes, fingers jammed between the plates of mini Hansen's armor to feel his breathing and willed the sprog to hear what Cho was saying.

+1  
“I’m sorry.”

Mako spun on heel, narrowing her eyes at Chuck. Her lips curled, but she didn’t deign to reply.

“I’m /sorry/,” Chuck repeated, walking forward with Max trailing him. “I was pissed off, and I ran my mouth. And I wasn’t fair to you at all. I know you can pilot, okay. You’re a ranger too. I’m a Grade A cunt.”

“You are,” Mako said coldly. “Raleigh is my co-pilot. He deserves your civility if nothing else.”

Chuck’s jaw jutted out. “I won’t apologize for what I said to him, Mako-chan. I only said what everyone’s thinking. But I said awful shit about you. I’m sorry for that.”

“Chuck-kun,” Mako said softly, “you are an asshole.”

Chuck laughed. It didn’t sound happy. “I know, but I’m the best. So it all evens out in the end.”

She frowned but didn’t correct him. “You hurt me, Chuck-kun, on purpose. I am not ready to forgive you yet.”

Nodding in acceptance Chuck said softly, “That’s fair.” He bowed neatly to her. “I’ll be in the gym tomorrow from oh-six hundred to oh-eight hundred, Mako-chan. I’d like it if you’d join me.”

“We can play Jaeger pilot,” Mako said magnanimously. “If you don’t cheat I’ll forgive you.” Chuck grinned.


	2. Ghosts in the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sentient!Jaegers. Sort of.
> 
> Original Prompt and Fill Here:  
> http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/1613.html?thread=1926989#t1926989

No one really talks about the ghost in the machine. It's not the ghost drift, which is purely biologic. It's just a Jaeger is part of the drift too, and while it's a machine, it's an artificial intelligence in its own right. In the intimacy of the drift, the machine becomes a tabla rasa, taking on the characteristics the pilots ascribe to it. It's just an imprint at first, an echo. Until the right bits of code get tangled together, and it becomes organic.

Coyote Tango

Tasmin thought that Coyote had somehow seen the gaping wound Luna's death left . Stacker wasn't sure, but he thought the wild joy that made up the core of Coyote's personality was wish-fulfillment by him and Tasmin. It was the same ferocity for life that had driven his sister and what he and Tasmin now fought for.

Coyote sounded British when she spoke in the drift, a bit Manchester for some reason. "Ryu is circling. It's coming around at our four o'clock." Stacker could feel Coyote's rush of excitement, feeding the adrenaline rising between him and Tasmin. Coyote loved a good fight, just like Luna had. As one, the three of them turned to intercept the monster. Tasmin and Coyote took the lead. Stacker's body moved with them, not fully in the moment, but he didn't need to be. He was three steps ahead in four different directions, feeding his analysis of the situation to Tasmin and Coyote. His girls moved on the tactical options he gave them. They tore the kaiju apart with twin screams of triumph.

"Fuck yeah," Tasmin yelled as she and Coyote punched the air.

Coyote let out a laugh that tingled through their joined minds. "Not today," she told her pilots. "Not any day. We won't let it happen." The three of them turned and looked out over Tokyo. Coyote was brimming with confidence and love for her city and her pilots. Stacker turned his head slightly, leaning against his motion harness in tandem with Tasmin. Electricity, not painful , just a buzz, danced across their faces as Coyote fluctuated her control systems, returning the affection.

Striker Eureka

Chuck and Herc went into the conn-pod angry. Tendo was seriously concerned the neural handshake wasn't going take, but it did. The two men went quiet for several minutes after initiation, lingering in headspace to work it out.

Chuck tumbled into Striker as soon as she came online. The Jaeger wrapped him in a mental embrace. "What's wrong, baby?" she asked in her level, American accent. She sent a warm tendril of welcome to Herc. It felt like a peck on the cheek and the smell of spaghetti cooking. She was multi-processing. Herc could feel her pulling the memories of the fight out of their drift. "Really?" she asked, exasperated, tired, and loving.

Striker projected the sense memory of fingers running through his hair to let Chuck know she wasn't angry. "Are you done being a brat now?" Chuck sulked a little but didn't pull away. Herc got the distinct feeling Striker was rolling her eyes at him. She thought he was letting Chuck get away with far too much shit. He sheepishly projected a double sense memory, a hand brushing across his shoulder, his hand brushing fondly over someone else's. "Now, I think I've got the gist of it. It's not your dad's fault Max got sick. That silly dog is worse than a vacuum cleaner. God only knows what he ate that upset his stomach." She paused, "Sometimes I'm really glad I'm a Jaeger. That's disgusting."

Herc winced and felt apologetic about broadcasting the mess Max had made of their room. Striker smiled at him, laughing silently. He smiled too, unable to help himself. The choking guilt he felt about Max being sick on his watch eased away. Striker thought he was being ridiculous. Max was fine. It was just the dog being a dog. Chuck was angry because he was scared and felt guilty too.

Striker sent out another directed tendril of warm feelings to Herc. "Now, apologize to your father," she ordered Chuck. "I won't have any pilot of mine acting like a child in a temper tantrum." She fed a series of complex ideas to the younger man in a carefully controlled thread. /You were trying to hurt your father. Why, sweetheart? We both love you so much, only ever want you to be happy. I know your scared. It's okay to be scared, baby. I'm here now. Nothing's going to hurt you. Your puppy is going to be okay. Not going to lose him. Not going to lose Dad. Never going to lose me, baby boy./

Chuck sniffed a little, burrowing himself further into Striker. "I'm sorry I yelled, Dad" he said in a little voice. "I know you wouldn't let anything happen to Max on purpose." He sounded less sulky than normal.

Herc embraced his son from the other side. "I'm sorry /I/ yelled, boy. I love Max too, and I know he means the world to you. I really have no idea what he got into." They three of them twined together until Chuck's thoughts stopped feeling like broken glass and smelling like tears and a burnt city.

Striker shook her head. "I hate how you two fight," she muttered. "I wish I could be out there with you when this stuff happens." She dropped the memory of kiss on top of the head to Chuck. Herc got another peck on cheek, complete with the double sense memory of stubble against lips Striker had tacked together to create her own memory.

Clearing his throat, trying to hid how he'd teared up, Herc said gruffly, "We've got a kaiju to kill, woman."

Striker withdrew a little, becoming less a force in the back of their minds and coalesced as a third pilot in their mind's eye. They imagined her as a stocky woman in a drive suit. The helmet was one way plexiglass. So they couldn't see her face. "I will smack you, Herc Hansen," Striker said indignantly with her hands on her hips.

Chuck moaned and muttered, "Get a room."

Striker patted his shoulder with the sense of a wicked smile. "Behave." And Chuck actually did. A conflicted burst of love/annoyance/I'm-a-grown-up made the Jaeger laugh. "Okay, boys," she said, stepping into her own motion harness. "I'm all warmed up. Systems are green. Handshake is strong. Go ahead and take the lead, sweetheart. Your dad and I are right behind you."

Cherno Alpha

Sasha gently patted Cherno's arm as the technicians worked on repairing the conn-pod, worrying her lip with her teeth. Aleksis tucked his arm over her shoulder. He was worried too. The welder's finished and a senior technician waved the pilots over. Sasha stepped lightly across Cherno's shoulder and jumped down into his open chest. Aleksis followed more slowly. Due to his size, he was choosier about his footholds.

The technicians hooked them in. LOCCENT started the neural handshake. Sasha wanted to hold her husband's hand but wouldn't. She never showed any weakness in front of the crew. Inside, she was choking on trepidation and the fear that Cherno might be damaged beyond repair. So Aleksis reached out and tangled their fingers together before they fell into the drift.

"Mamochka, Papochka?" Cherno asked. His voice was reedy, high pitched and scared. In their headspace he looked like the child they could never have, with scrapes on his elbow and a nasty bruise on his face. He still was feeling the damage from their last fight.

Sasha scooped him up for a cuddle, exhaling deeply with relief. She kissed the bruises and scrapes on by one. "Are you feeling better, zaja?" she asked, propping him on her hip. "The crew is doing a very nice job of fixing you up." The boy nodded, hiding his face in his mother's neck.

Aleksis rumbled out a laugh stepping over to embrace his little family. "But you would rather have your mamochka here, da?"

"And papochka," Cherno piped up indigently. He shifted in Sasha's arms, straining up to kiss his father's cheek. It was wet, clumsy, and perfect. Aleksis kissed the boy on the forehead, brushing his bread across the spot to make the child giggle.

He was still laughing when the headspace dissolved in favor of their combat drift. Cherno was will there of course, strapped between them in a incongruous red car seat. "Ready, zaja?" Sasha asked their son with a bright smile.

"Da!" Cherno cheered. He raised his arm as Sasha and Aleksis raised their's, testing the repaired joints. Aleksis watches the boy closely to make sure it wasn't hurting him. Sasha didn't lie though. The repairs were sound. Cherno giggled as Sasha and Aleksis tested their range off motion with a clapping game. Sasha sang, "La douski, la douski…"

Aleksis joined in with a big smile. Cherno flailed about in his seat with happiness. He loved clapping games. He loved playing monster killer with his parents. Safely encased in his huge steel body, he was the happiest little boy in the world.

Crimson Typhoon

They don't notice the fourth man in the conn-pod for the first two drifts. They know he's there. He's a part of them too, but they don't notice him as being different. It's like he's always belonged. When Jin finally notices his partner next to him at weapon's control, he screeches like a little girl. The man laughs and pulls off his drive helmet. He looks just like the triplets.

Hu's the one who figures it out. "You're Typhoon," he says, proud of the realization. "You're our other brother."

Typhoon doesn't nod. He doesn't need to. In the drift, everyone already knows the important things. The triplets pile in on him in headspace. He tries to shake them off, grinning and yelling like he'd always been a part of them. Sometimes outside the drift, they still get confused, looking for the fourth brother in the commissary or for their basketball game. They get strange looks when they finally just give in and put up a hoop in Typhoon's launch bay, but it works. Even if Typhoon can't play, he's their brother, and they want to be close.

Gipsy Danger

The first time Yancy and Raleigh drifted in Gipsy Danger they found her waiting for them in the drift. In their shared headspace, Gipsy looked like a pre-teen girl, all long limbs and wide smile. She floated in the stream of memories, whispering "Hello" shyly, hiding her face behind long, dishwater blond hair. Raleigh and Yancy couldn't help themselves, they swept her up into their bond, holding her tight between them.

"Hello yourself," Yancy said with a warm smile. "We're your brothers." Raleigh was shaking with eagerness feeling Gispy's joy at having them a part of her, her brother-pilots.

"Love you, Gipsy," Raleigh told her. "We're going to be /awesome/ together."

When Yancy died, Gipsy screamed. Her/Raleigh's arm hurt. Her/Raleigh's chest hurt. And Yancy was gone. Yancy who was her biggest brother. Yancy was the one who bullied the technician's into buffing her paint and stopped Raleigh from teasing her. Raleigh threw his arms around her in headspace and cried into her hair. "Please, baby girl, please. We have to finish this. For him."

Crying herself into shakes, Gipsy nodded, wiping the blood off her face and clenching her fist. "You can't die, Raleigh," she told him as they punched out into Knifehead. "You can't. I'll kill what systems I can, but if you die because the neural load, I'll die too."

Raleigh nodded. In headspace, they were on the ground from injuries and grief. Together they killed Knifehead, blowing it apart as brutally as possible. Gipsy's did her best to shut down all non-essential systems so Raleigh wouldn't be overloaded. In headspace, Raleigh picked her up piggy back and started walking forward, carrying her to shore as she bled and cried.

The salt water fried her exposed her circuits. The fluids that made up her synapses washed away. By the time Raleigh could see sand, Gipsy was coughing up blood. He switched to bridal carry, pressing their faces together as he waded through the grey water in their drift. Yancy walked next to them, waxy pale and dead-eyed. Gipsy kept trying to reach out for her big brother, but her hands passed right through him.

Raleigh reached the beach just as Gipsy dissolved in his mental hands, falling into a shower silvery gold flakes. The partial drift collapsed around him leaving him gasping in the harness with Yancy's dying screams still echoing in his head and the knowledge he'd lost his little sister too.

Mako brought Gipsy back. After that disastrous first drift, they found her right before they were about to jump into combat. Her hair was still fly-away blond and she wore a pair of oversized coveralls with her logo stitched on the back.

Gipsy ran across their headspace and jumped into Raleigh's waiting arms. "I missed you so much!" she said to his neck. Raleigh buried his face in her hair and held on tight. "Where's Yancy?" Her eyes were bright as she looked around for her other big brother.

Raleigh swallowed the fierce surge of pain in his chest. Gipsy had been badly damaged. Her memory was probably sketchy. "He died, baby girl. Knifehead pulled him out of you. Do you remember?"

Tears welled up in Gispy's eyes. She shrank a little, her clothes going baggy as she lost years to better fit the oncoming tantrum. "No. Raleigh. No. I want Yancy." She turned to stare at Mako. "Where's Yancy?"

Mako wasn't sure what to do. So she reached up and smoothed down the girl's hair. "Your ani is not coming back, Gipsy. I'm sorry." Gispy wailed and clung to Raleigh finishing her regression. Raleigh was crying too, struggling to keep her still in his arms. Mako reached out and gently extricated the girl. Then she reached for the strange shadow that Raleigh had in headspace, pulling until it merged and consumed her own shadow. Yancy Beckett loved being a big brother. He wasn't particularly driven or clever, but he was good at taking care of people. He was in Mako's head now, as firmly entrenched as he was in Raleigh's. Gispy finally started to calm down.

Raleigh stared at his co-pilot, disbelieving. Mako shrugged. Along with the good that had been Raleigh's brother, she too could now remember what it felt like to die screaming. There were worse things. "I'm your new sister," Mako told Gipsy. "Yancy sent me to take care of you."

"I don't want a sister! I want Yancy!" Gipsy snapped. Mako raised an eyebrow. Gispy flushed to her hairline. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean I don't want you. You're…" She looked puzzled. "You're just not my brothers."

"I am not," Mako agreed. "And nobody could ever replace him." She looked at Raleigh with a sad smile. "But I am still your new sister."

Gispy put her head on Mako's shoulder, sniffing. "Okay." Blue streaks started from her scalp and crept down to the ends of her hair. Her features shifted a little, eyes narrowing and skin darkening a few shades. Raleigh smiled, relieved, at clear signs of acceptance. She stayed young though, closer to ten than twelve. A pair of combat boots cover feet that used to be bare.

Mako set Gipsy down. The little girl wiped her face off and reached for the hands of her pilots. "Okay. Is it time to kill the monsters now?" She smiled a little.

"Yes," Mako said. "It's time to kill the monsters." She smiled at Raleigh over Gipsy's head.

Striker Eureka (II)

The Cat V had shattered Striker's drive helmet. Stacker didn't really approve the detail headspace could sometimes take on. He and Tasmin had Coyote, but they never gave her a body. She was just Coyote. Herc and Chuck had created the most detailed avatar Stacker had ever seen. Striker wasn't very chatty, but she probably wasn't happy about Chuck being sent out with Stacker. The only saving grace was the fact father and son hadn't given their Jaeger a face. It was Herc's concession to sanity. One Stacker greatly appreciated.

Ever since entering the drift and finding Chuck had carried the avatar with him, Stacker suspected what was under the plexiglass. It made him a little nauseous but explained so much. Striker Eureka was hemorrhaging in reality and headspace. Chuck was still trying to fight as the Jaeger forced herself to keep going when she should have been shutting down. With ever step the Jaeger took, Stacker caught a glimpse of Striker's face through the shattered faceplate. Angela Hansen's teeth were bared as she fought physics and her own metal body with circuits for brains to save her son.


	3. The Lambs of Olympus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Herc is Chuck's mom story. Also, the beginning of my theory that Chuck's other parent is an American or Canadian. Thus, explaining why an Aussie is called 'Chuck'.
> 
> Warnings: Girl!Herc's co-pilot dies of cancer. Girl!Herc is also a pretty terrible mom. Violence against civilians. Chuck dies at the end.

Hera Hansen was a horrible mother. If it wasn't for Jack, CPS would have taken her little boy right after he was born. But Jack had been there, and that made everything okay.

Hera was career military, same as the father who no longer spoke to her. She expected to die a spinster and possibly be eaten by the pit bull that was nominally her neighbors but spent all its time with her when she was at her apartment off base. Then she participated in a bullshit skills exchange with the Americans and met her cowboy.

Jack was tall and broad and spoke with a slow drawl like an old western movie. Hera fucked him because she like his accent and the way he never seemed to raise his voice. (She'd spend the rest of her life without him trying to forget how he said her name. Loo-ten-ant Hare-ah Hahn-son. Then panicking and watching old tapes when she couldn't remember.) He somehow conned her into taking him back to Oz as her war-bride. She still couldn't connect the dots between their first drunken fuck and getting married in dress blues at a multi-faith chapel. Jack was the best mistake she ever made.

Her husband thrived under the hot sun of the Western Territory where she bought him a house on bit of wasteland that was all the property she could afford. Jack fixed up the shack into a real home, complete with white, thin curtains on the widows and king sized bed for them to mess up. He was an efficient house-husband, cooking and cleaning in between working in town fixing overheated semis and broken motorbikes. And when they got a little too eager and forgot a condom, he decided he wanted to be a stay-at-home dad too.

Gestating Chuck was the longest nine months of Hera's life. She informed the appropriate people and followed protocol but fought tooth nail to keep working until she was physically incapable of serving her country. Her superior officer informed her two weeks before the nine month mark his blood pressure was through the roof from stress, and her mechanics were taking twice as long as everybody else on pre-flight maintenance out of fear of losing her and the baby to a freak accident. She named the baby Charles, after her Squadron Leader, as an apology for putting him on medication. It was Jack though, literally shaking with pride the first time he held his son, who dubbed the boy Chuck. (Hera tried to convince him that no proper Aussie was named 'Chuck', but Jack just laughed and pointed out the boy was half Texan.)

Jack was the best father Hera knew. He figured out breast pumps and left their house in the Western Territory for Hera's dank little apartment off base until their son was old enough not to need her for sustenance. He didn't like Sydney. The bustle and crowds made him uncomfortable, but he only cared to have eyes for his son and his wife. (Hera chose not to remember the fights. Jack worried that she was distancing herself from their child, preferring the discomfort of the pump to coming home in the middle of the day. He was right. So she doesn't think about it anymore.) Her Squadron Leader forgave her for his spiral into blood pressure treatment and consented to be Chuck's godfather. Hera was, for the first time, proud of the life she'd built.

Chuck grew in fits and spurts to Hera's eyes as she saw him between deployments. Jack moved them back to their house as soon as she started working full time again. (Ages one to three for Chuck were very structured. Mostly because every time Hera saw Jack they fought, but they refused to do it in front of their son. Every time Chuck saw his mother, it was carefully scripted until the day Jack told her divorce was never on the table. He was leaving, because it was easier to be in love when they didn’t see each other every day.) Even as a baby Chuck was an even-tempered, good natured boy. So much like his father, it felt like looking into the sun to see them both waiting for her in the front yard. When Chuck was four, Jack called her and told her to bring her neighbors’ new, equally neglected pit puppy bull home with her when she came back. The owners never even bothered putting up missing posters.

Chuck named the dog 'Katya' and grinned proudly at his mother for being so clever. Hera had been blown away by the intelligence her son already displayed. It had been good, the day Katya came home. Jack had hidden his smile in the kitchen as Hera was in awe of her son.

She made a point of staying closer to home now that she couldn't deny her son had a personality. The heavy, nearly silent fights she and Jack had been having faded into the dull roar of domestic friction. They tried again for a sibling for Chuck. It never took. Charles became a regular visitor now that he was sure Hera wouldn't actually maul him for getting too close to her young family. He and Jack got along like a house fire, existing in a mutual admiration society which also encompassed Hera and Chuck. Chuck loved his godfather, mimicking the man's accent and swagger for days after Charles visited.

Years passed. Hera got promoted. Chuck grew. Jack kept up the house. Katya's fur turned grey around her muzzle. Hera realized she no longer planned on dying valiantly and young. Instead, the future stretched out before her with the promise of growing fat and grey with Jack at her side, watching their beautiful son rock the world. And she liked the idea.

Then the kaiju came, and a heroic death was back on the table. Echo Saber was the first Jaeger assigned to the newly formed ANZDC branch of the PPDC. Hera left her family and joined a half dozen of the best pilots in Australia and New Zealand in the first Ranger training course. She met Stacker Pentecost and Tasmin Sevier for the first time as they took turns in the simulator. Pentecost was the opposite of everything Hera expected from a bred and born British officer. Tasmin was just fun. Training was hard, and the three of them played harder. It seemed like they fit perfectly. Oddly so considering Tas and Stacker had already been slated to be co-pilots, but they still wanted a third. Hera pretended not to see ghost between them. Eventually imported liquor loosened Stacker's tongue enough to admit he loved Hera, deeply and desperately. Hera took it for what it was and sidled into part of the space his sister used to fill. Tas never blamed Hera for taking the opening, becoming Stacker's best friend outside a drift. The two women connected in their own way, drinking together when they needed a cry and doing their best to help each other claw to the top.

It didn't surprise anyone, except maybe Charles himself, that Hera and her former commanding officer were drift compatible. Hera was pleased. Tas claimed drifting felt a lot like being invincible, but only if you trusted your partner. Other than Jack or her son, Hera couldn't imagine trusting anyone more than the first decent officer she'd ever had. Echo Saber was a revelation. Drifting was still new, and no one quite knew what to do with a rabbit. First drifts tended to be messy and violent, but Hera opened her mind and poured the memories of her son out into a pool. Charles found her there, drawing on his own memories of Chuck to find a place to sync. They lingered for a moment before diving into the wild current of the unknown together. Charles was gay. Hera had always suspected, had been grateful more than once for that. His relief at her nonchalance tasted like peppermint. He still hadn't told his family, terrified of being rejected by his religious mother.

Charles hesitantly, then with more eagerness when Hera flippantly shrugged, dug greedily through her memories of loving Jack. It was the kind of relationship he'd wanted but had never been able find. She would have been embarrassed, except he passed over the vivid memories of sex in favor of daily, mundane intimacies, kissing in the kitchen, holding hands in public. It did feel like his eyes lingered on her husband’s naked body when it passed, but she could hardly blame him for that. Jack was an attractive man. They felt the neural handshake snap firmly into place as he offered her a few tidbits of his own sexual history he thought she might like. It was the moment they figured out reciprocity was the easiest way for them to find the drift. Then they were moving together. Echo moved with them, an extension of the new person they joined to be. Hera whooped fiercely as they stepped into surf. It sounded in stereo as Charles did the same thing instinctually.

Coyote Tango was waiting for them out in the ocean. Tas got on the radio when she saw them. "Looking good, Echo. God, you’re a gorgeous thing." Knowing now what a real, solid drift meant, Hera knew Tas wasn't just talking about the Jaeger.

There had been concerns among the technicians about Hera's drivesuit. She and Jack were still talking about trying for a second child. So the technicians added radiation shielding to her armor just in case. Several of the mechanics involved had been there for her pregnancy with Chuck. It was their continued paranoia that saved her life. Hera was the only Mark I pilot who didn't die by kaiju or cancer.

To celebrate her first successful drift, Jack brought Chuck and Katya to Sydney. He also came to hold Hera's hand. After all the rumors and publicity, Hera and Charles' names had been published. For the first time since she enlisted, her father made contact via a call to Jack. He wanted to meet the grandson the journalist had been going on about. Charles volunteered to escort Chuck to meet his grandfather while Hera and Jack got some private time in at a nice hotel. Scissure had already risen and was being herded onto some empty stretches of rocky island to be nuked. No one thought there was any problem with Charles and Hera taking the day.

Except Scissure didn't die. Except Charles went a day ahead of her to meet Jack and Chuck. He left Chuck holed up with Hera's father and went to join the fight. Except Jack, damn him, had to help people. Hera ended up jumping into a helicopter to help in the fight straight off the plane from the Alaskan Shatterdome where they'd been training. The memory of the skeletons of the Jaegers, working but not fully powered and completely without weapons, mocked her.

She flew for close to forty eight hours. Then they started the clock to decimating the center of Sydney and murdering God only knew how many civilians. One hour wasn't long enough to evacuate the rubble covered streets. Anyone not already at the edge of the blast radius was dead. Hera refueled her helicopter and called her husband. "I'll be there in half an hour," she said sharply. "Be ready."

"No," Jack drawled easily over the staticky connection. "You go get our son, Hera Hansen. Your daddy is too dumbshit drunk to have gotten them out."

Hera froze, because she was and always would be the worst mother ever. Because loving Chuck was like loving your lungs or liver or heart. It was impossible to live without, but so much a part of you it went unnoticed. Loving Jack was like loving Australia. Without it, Hera Hansen wasn't anyone worth knowing. She would die if she lost Chuck, but she wasn't sure she wanted to live without Jack.

"Darlin'," her husband said, sweet and slow. "I love you, and I don't want to die. But, darlin', I'm not strong enough to survive losin' both of you. And I will if you do what you're thinkin'. Now go to our boy."

"I love you," Hera bit out automatically. "I'll talk to you later." She hung up and climbed back into the helicopter. She flew as fast as she dared to her childhood home. Her father was waiting on the porch, where she'd slept those nights he'd locked her out, with her son. Chuck was shaking and clinging to Katya. Hera hovered over the middle of the street where desperate people were already starting to gather. There were far more than she could rescue.

Her bastard of a father already had a plan. Hera didn’t want to know where he got the shotgun he used to disperse the crowd, but she wasn't in a position to argue. Plus, in thirty-five minutes no one would care of the three men and a woman were killed by her father or the nuclear blast. "Go to your mum," Hera's father ordered Chuck sharply, walking him forward with a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Chuck, Katya's leashed grasped tightly in his hand, ran to the chopper as Hera set it down. Hera locked the controls but left the rotors running as she untangled herself from the safety harness. Then she ran to throw open the door to helicopter, pistol in hand. She shot at a man who was getting bold since her father was nowhere to be seen. Chuck lept into her arms. Poor, scared Katya almost bolted. Hera brutally scruffed the dog and threw her into the cargo area. "Sit back there and keep her low," she ordered Chuck. Thirty-one minutes.

Her father reappeared, leading a small group of people. A man and woman younger than Hera with three children and woman who was probably the children's grandmother. He led them over and gestured for them to get in the chopper. Hera stepped further inside to let them pass. Then her father spoke directly to her, "Get the fuck out of here, girl." He turned, wielding his shotgun at the encroaching group of people who'd decided bullets came in finite numbers. Hera ran to cockpit and started lifting away without stopping to secure her harness. They flew out of the blast radius in silence punctuated only by the dull roar of the nuclear bomb going off in the distance. Hera gritted her teeth and forced the helicopter to ride out the air blast. She'd gotten them out of EMP range.

Her phone had one missed call from Jack. He'd left a message three minutes before detonation while she'd been coaxing everything she could out of the engines. Hera kept the phone, but she never did listen to her husband's last words. Charles met her at the base. He was full of apologies and sorrow. He'd tried to get to Jack but was too far away. Hera told him to shut up, there was nothing to forgive. She'd been the one to fail her family. They never spoke about it again, but when Charles started coughing blood, he believed it was punishment for failing the family she'd made him a part of. Not even drifting could dissuade him.

Hera never planned on being a mother. Jack had wanted the baby, and Hera wanted to Jack to have what he wanted. She would never regret Chuck, but single parenthood had never entered her realm of consciousness as a possibility. Stupid and short-sighted certainly, but it was the truth. The first night Chuck spent fatherless, Hera spent in the brig with the others who'd gone AWOL with RAAF property. In the first and last thing her father had ever done for her, the family Hera had rescued included the wife, son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren of a prominent MP. She was released without charge the next afternoon along with the others.

Charles was waiting for her at the air strip with Chuck. The boy had a brand new rucksack with C. Hansen and the patch for Echo Saber stitched on it. It was still mostly empty. Someone thoughtful had come up with a doggy version for Katya which was much fuller. Dog food, Hera would find out later, donated by the military K-9 unit.

The four of them were flown straight to the new Shatterdome in Tokyo. Echo Saber and the other Jaegers were being fast tracked to completion. Scissure proved there was no time to waste. Stacker must have pulled some strings, because Charles and Hera had been assigned two connected rooms with a private bath. Chuck had been quiet since Hera had been released. Charles already told him about Jack, but Hera wasn't sure it'd sunk in yet. The boy just stuck to his dog like she was the only rock left in his world and stared at Charles and Hera like they might disappear.

Charles moved the spare cot to the room with bunks bolted to the walls. It didn't see much use. Charles took the bottom bunk with Katya. Chuck slept with his mother. On bad nights, when Chuck wouldn't stop crying, Hera would pile blankets on the floor and she and Charles would curl around her son and his dog like they could keep the bad things out. In Sydney, the wreckage of the city and the dust that used to be its inhabitants was pushed into sea. It was the best the government could do for a burial that large.

Charles asked her about sending Chuck away, somewhere safe. Hera couldn't stomach the idea of abandoning her child, no matter how much she struggled to be his mother. Her partner understood, shared the fear in the drift with her, and fought to help her keep her son. She kept Charles' tags after he died. Stacker stayed out of Jaegers and bought himself some time. Tas took chemo. Charles didn't stop piloting. He didn't take chemo. Chuck was furious at Hera for letting his father die. He never forgave her for letting Charles fade away in the conn-pod of a Jaeger.

Hera knew through the drift that her co-pilot was dying slowly and lying about it. She never forced the issue. They were good. Their neural handshake was compare to the likes of the Kaidanovskys. And Charles had decided he was going to die a Jaeger pilot. It wasn't until Panama, piloting Hydra Corinthian, the cancer metastasized, and Charles started lagging. Chuck was thirteen and talking about ranger training. Katya was old now. She limped when she walked, still following her boy everywhere. The veterinarian said it was arthritis. He'd offered to put her down. Hera had nearly punched him.

She had no idea what she was going to do when Katya finally passed. Chuck willfully ignored the signs of the dog's age as he did the blood staining Charles' sleeve cuffs. Her relationship with her son had always been heavily rose tinted by his hero worship of his mother the pilot and her shiny RAAF uniform. That façade crumbled spectacularly without Jack bringing out her better angels. Hera felt guilty for the way her son was forced to accept a virtual stranger as his parent right after losing his father. From Echo Saber to a miserable stint with Eden Assassin then Vulcan Specter, Hera's little family maintained a delicate balance. Chuck took care of Katya. Charles took care of Chuck. And Hera took care of the outside world. Chuck called her 'Mum', but it was more reflexive than meaningful. Jack had called her 'Mum' too in front of their son.

Her son was closer to his ‘Uncle Chas’ than her. She knew she was setting him up to lose yet another parent, but there was no Jack to stop her. The comfortable distance from her son made everything easier. The boy had his father's eyes.

Charles couldn't hide the symptoms anymore when he woke up and felt like he was suffocating. Hera carried her partner down to the infirmary. Fluid was built up in his chest cavity, compressing his lungs. His bones ached so badly there were tears in his eyes. There was no mistaking the symptoms. The doctor pulled Charles and Hera off the active duty rooster. They were quietly shipped back to the Sydney Shatterdome. So Charles could be buried in Australian soil.

Chuck didn't say much, but Hera knew he was fuming. Living in a war zone, being raised by soldiers, burned through the sweet nature Jack passed onto his son. Every day, Chuck became a little more like his mother, and she hated it. Instead, he reassembled their room in Sydney out of the four duffels and a box that contained everything Hera's family needed to make a home. Hera sat in the infirmary with Charles until Chuck finished. Then she picked up her partner and carried him home to tuck him in the bottom bunk.

Charles died slowly. Hera was assigned new duties, official officer's duties, by Stacker. She went to meetings, read spreadsheets, and stayed close to her partner. Chuck focused on preparing for Ranger training. Then Charles started getting worse. He stopped being able to focus. He stopped being able to take care of himself. Hera and Chuck alternated shifts, helping Charles to the bathroom, wetting his mouth, feeding him whatever food he'd take. Charles demanded they put him back in the infirmary, ripping into Hera for using Chuck this way. Chuck was the one who told his Uncle Chas to shut up.

They knew when it was time. Katya, who'd lain by Charles' side patiently, started crying. Hera, who had one foot in the ghost drift ever since she and Charles stepped into Echo, could feel the cool fog leeching her partner away. Chuck and Hera sat on the bed with Charles, holding his hands until the body cooled to room temperature. Then, for the last time, Chuck hurled himself into his mother's arms and sobbed into her shoulder. Hera sat still and let him. Afraid if she touched him, he might pull away.

It wasn't like when Jack died. When she'd lost her husband, Charles had been there with her. Their combined grief had been both greater and easier to bear. Her head felt empty without his echo. The world felt less since she only perceived it with one set of senses. Her son sobbed himself into exhaustion against her mute, passive body. Charles would have known how to comfort her son. He'd been her superior officer, better educated, from money. He always had words enough.

When Chuck finally cried himself to sleep, she lifted her son, no long small, into the top bunk. Katya stayed with Charles, waiting patiently. Hera called the right people, filed the right paperwork. Men with a gurney came and got the body. Hera cleaned up the lower bunk, removing the rubber sheet and soiled linens. The pillow was a goner. So she threw it away. Then she sat and watched her son sleep. Hera Hansen was not a good mother, but she was a dab hand at the soldiering life.

They buried Charles at sea when the family refused to have anything to do with him. Apparently, he'd finally told them the truth in his last call home. Chuck took Charles' bunk, and Hera couldn't see Jack's sweet little boy anymore in the angry, young man who fought her every step of the way, even as he clung to her side. They buried Katya the same way a week later. The old girl had hung on as long as she could for her boy.

All Chuck wanted anymore was Jaegers. So when Stacker came with Vulcan's new pilots, he left with Hera's son. When Chuck came back, Hera was waiting for him with a new Jaeger and a bulldog pup. He named the dog Max and stared lovingly up at Striker Eureka. As rule, family members drifted well. While Hera and Chuck's relationship was rocky, she loved her son unconditionally and trusted him absolutely. Chuck didn't understand his mother and often didn't like her, but he knew she was one of the best. Their handshake was strong. Chuck was as good as Charles in his prime, and Hera had only gotten better and meaner in her old age. Hera and Charles had killed eight kaiju in four different Jaegers. She and her son killed eleven.

The first drift was so terrible they almost lost the handshake. Chuck hated his mother. It ate up her guts like acid, mingling with his utter shock she loved him. Hera wasn't sure how her son had never known he was the most precious thing she could imagine. That she damned him to the life of a soldier rather than live without him. "Love you, baby boy. Love you, Jack's son. Love you. Love you," she whispered over the drift. "You're everything, my beautiful boy."

"Mum," he whispered back through the stream of memories. "Mummy. Love me?"

Hera’s heart shattered. “Yes. Always.” She let the violence of his emotion run through her and seep away, stabilizing the drift. Chuck greedily flicked through her memories of his father and Charles. She didn’t try to stop him, only pulling him back when he got a little too focused a specific image. He’d flare up again, angered as he saw things from her perspective. She tried to leech the emotions from the scenes, especially leaving Jack in Sydney and Charles dying. Chuck started to calm down until the handshake was strong and stable. He even felt content, finally able to be close to his mother.

Outside the drift, Hera still didn't understand what her son wanted. She spoiled Max and let the boy run feral. When Stacker's daughter was around, Hera tried not to look too closely and see what failure she'd been. The technicians were the best antidote to Chuck's attitude. Some of them dated back to putting radiation shielding in Hera's drivesuit. They had no problem smacking down the boy when he crossed a line. Hera let them. She'd never really tried to raise her own son, and it was little late to be starting now.

Chuck burned out, young and glorious, saving all of humanity. Hera sent him to his death without even saying ‘I love you’. As her son stood in the elevator next to Stacker, she could have sworn that he was Jack. From the tilt of his broad shoulders, to the tears in his dare-devil green eyes matching the glint of his dark blond hair, he was Jack at his prime. Charles would have had the right words for this moment. Jack would have never let their son grow up to be a martyr. Hera Hansen was neither of these. So she sent her son to his death with a promise to look after his dog. Stacker knew what he was taking into the Breach with him. Bastard even waited for Hera to say ‘Stop’. But Hera Hansen had always been a soldier. It was her fault her son was one too, and she wouldn’t deny him orders he wanted that badly.

Hera looked into her glass of whiskey then back out at the ocean. First Jack, ingloriously cremated and swept into the water like trash. Then Charles. Then Katya. Then her baby boy. She reached up and rubbed Max’s ears. “He’s not that old,” she told the waves. “And I promised. It’ll be a few years, but you’ll wait.” She hurled her glass out into water. “Cheers, mate.” She grunted as she pushed herself to her feet. The creaky bones and tired old tissue stringing them together was her now. Nothing else remained. It would hold together for the nine to ten years Max had left. Hera Hansen was a terrible mother, but she’d never promised her son anything she couldn’t give.


	4. Skinwalker-Revised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as stated above, Skinwalker revised to my sister's specifications. It was originally written for her, and she wanted some more questions answered. I kind of like the more detailed version better.
> 
> Warnings: I didn't really specifically warn for the first one. But there's nothing here you didn't see in the original story.

"That's my daughter you have there, Stacker," Dad said, voice thick. "That's my /daughter/." Charli Hansen tipped her head up proudly and smiled. She was Herc Hansen's daughter, pilot of the Striker Eureka, best of the best. As the doors to lift closed, taking her away from the only man she'd ever trailed behind, Charli exhaled slowly to suppress the giddy panic in her throat.

Dad had been larger than life to Charli before K-Day. From the shiny, gold buttons on his uniform to his patent leather shoes, he was her idol and knight in shining armor all in one. Mum was never bitter about the divorce, at least not that Charli ever knew. She always had a smile for Dad when he came to pick up Charli for a weekend or a weeklong trip. Charli was daddy's girl through and through, Herc's little princess with a sword. Dad loved taking her out with him, teaching her to surf on a little board covered in glitter, going camping with her water and some gear stowed in a royal purple pack. Dad never wanted a son. Boys were soldiers who got themselves killed in his world. He loved his little girl in all her hot pink, frilly skirt over combat boots, tomboy in blue lipstick attitude.

They don't talk about K-Day. Charli walked out of Sydney pulling Mum behind her. By the time some soldiers stopped to ask her what she was doing, her bright blue tutu had been torn beyond recognition and the knock off combat boots she loved were falling apart on her feet. She'd dragged Mum's body, wrapped in a sleeping bag, strapped in place to a piece of plywood with gaffer tape, almost forty kilometers to Blacktown. No one believed she'd walked all that way until they saw her take Dad's water filter out of her purple hiking pack and pump enough water from a sludge filled reservoir to fill her hydration pack by herself.

The soldiers took Mum's body and found Dad from a card in Mum's wallet. When the soldiers opened the sleeping bag, Charli had screamed and thrown herself at them but not before she'd gotten an eyeful of what a decomposing body looked like after four days being cooked in an insulated sack. Dad had punched the officer when he came to get Charli and had seen his ex-wife's body left laying carelessly in the open sleeping bag, exposed to the world and for Charli to stare at in mute horror. They don't talk about the two years Charli didn't talk at all.

Life after K-Day was nothing like the idyllic, modern childhood Charli had before. They started moving from base to base, following the Jaeger program. Those colorful things she'd loved, clothes, toys, make-up, weren't available anymore. So she got used to cast off military surplus and olive drab. Life changed, and it didn't. Dad wasn't around as much, and when he was, he was exhausted. Charli entertained herself playing with the other military brats. They ran feral together like a little wolfpack. None of the adults had the heart to admonish them, not after what they'd all seen. Charli took the bit of freedom between her teeth and ran with it, leading the worst of troublemakers from one mess to another with a wicked grin.

She learned to cook their meager rations on a hot plate for nights Dad didn't make it to the commissary, remembering coming home to a warm sandwich and Mum’s smile every day after school. Dad smiled vaguely and kissed her on top of the head when she dropped by his office with tea or coffee and a plate of biscuits. He never said a word about whatever chaos she'd left in her wake when she was out of sight. Charli watched the Jaeger program grow, saw her Dad in the conn-pod and knew she was going to be just like him when she grew up. Diagrams of Jaeger limbs and conn-pods filled the margins of her schoolbooks between the doodled hearts and stars.

Then, puberty hit. Dad cut off her hair and told her to get used to it. He never said why, ignored her crying for the first time as the curves she wanted so badly never manifested, but when she was fourteen, Charli saw a technician grabbed by her ponytail and shoved into wall by an aviator who didn't like the word 'No'. 

Charli grappled the man, broke his collarbone and ankle. The aviator called her an 'asshole' and 'stuck up dick'. The technician just gave Charli a shaky smile and ran away. Afterwards, Charli looked in the mirror at her buzzed, ginger hair and too broad shoulders and saw the teenage boy, growing into a man, the technican had been frightened by. It was the last in a long line of revelations proving Daddy's little girl had died in Sydney.

Chuck Hansen cleaned his face with his sleeve and left the bathroom where he realized what had to do. He went back to the suite of rooms he shared with his father and started picking up Charli's things to donate or throw away. The pink and blue stuffed unicorn on the bed, an Army recruiting poster with a particularly cute soldier on it, a glass humming bird in purple and green, the precious, plastic palettes of brightly colored make-up, a bottle of nail polish, trainer bras, brightly colored panties, and all the back issues of the teen magazines Dad could find. Chuck bagged it all and took it down the hall to Amy Mai, a Vietnamese engineer with a twelve year old daughter.

"Charli," Amy said urgently when she saw what was in the bag, "Charli, no one cares, honey. You don't have to give this up."

"Chuck," Chuck said, swallowing hard. "Call me Chuck. Charli's a girl’s name. I can't be a girl anymore. Just, make sure it makes her happy, please." Chuck walked away quickly before Amy could say anything else.

When Dad came back from the test run with Echo Saber, he asked what happened to all the little, pretty things he'd scrounged for his daughter. "I'm your son, Dad," Chuck said flatly, lying shirtless on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. His bare chest was flat, curved only with pectoral muscles and that came from helping the Jaeger mechanics.

"Charli," Dad said sharply. "What are you talking about? Also, sweetheart, put on a shirt."

"Why?" Chuck sat up. "Dad, why should I? There's nothing to cover!"

"We live in close quarters as it is," Dad replied stubbornly. "I don't need to see my daughter half naked on purpose."

Chuck wanted to cry, because, even when Dad was checked out killing kaijus and never around for a hug, he never had a problem with who Charli was. But women weren't Jaeger pilots. A woman fighting the kaiju would always be fighting a war on two fronts, the monster in front of her and the men behind her. If Chuck was going to be the best, to be good enough Dad could never leave him behind again, then he needed all the advantages he could get. "Dad, I'm a boy, okay? I know that now." The words tasted like poison, broken glass, and Mum rotting in hot sunlight.

Dad looked like Chuck gut shot him. "Sweetheart, who told you that? I'll kick his ass. You're my daughter, and I'm proud of you."

"I'm going to be a Jaeger pilot, Dad. I have to be a boy," Chuck pointed out.

"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor Lightcap pilots Brawler Yukon," Dad growled, but his face showed he knew his argument was weak. Lightcap was the exception not the rule. "Charli…"

"Chuck."

"Charli!" Dad barked, horrified.

Chuck gritted his teeth. "My name is Chuck Hansen, son of Hercules Hansen, Jaeger pilot."

Dad gaped, mouth moving like a fish out of water. Chuck glared. After a moment, Dad found his voice, "You are /not/ my son." The words came out hard and staccato as gunfire.

Chuck knew Dad didn't mean it the way it sounded. He knew that, but it felt like confirmation of all the dread buried in his stomach exploding out through his body like a pipe bomb full of nails. "Well, that was a long time coming," Chuck said viciously twisting his mouth into a sneer to hold back the tears. His guts were somewhere on the ocean floor.

"Christ, sweet…kiddo, give me a moment," Dad yelped like a wound wolf. If he’d been a cartoon character, his feet would be churning up a dust cloud as he backpedaled. "That's a hell of a thing to spring on a man. Of course you’re my kid, no matter what." The protest sounded weak after the vehemence of his awful proclamation, and he knew it. "Charli… Chuck… Baby…"

"I want you to put me up for the Jaeger Program," Chuck said, swallowing down the bile taste in the back of his throat. His skin was too tight, too wrong. "Tonight. They'll ship me out for training tomorrow, and you'll have all the time you need." It took everything Chuck had to spit out the words and not curl in on himself and claw at his too flat chest.

Dad obediently filled out the paperwork. Though he hesitated over the ‘Gender’ line. Charli’s paperwork had been labeled ‘F’ except for medical documents. Grimacing, Dad circled ‘M’. After lights out, they lay there in the dark. Chuck stared up at the ceiling and tried not to cry again. He'd need to learn not to cry if he was going to be a boy. The sound of raspy, wool blankets being push aside, followed by bare foot steps across the floor were plenty of warning for Dad's weight settling on the edge of Chuck's cot. When Chuck was Charli, Dad would crawl into bed with his daughter, wrapping her up tight in his arms, to calm her down. But Chuck was Dad's son, and everything he knew about dads and sons said that Dad shouldn't cuddle up with him. When Dad reached out, Chuck rolled away. They don't talk about that night or the next morning when Chuck took his duffel packed only with his father's cast offs and left to become a Ranger.

Program training was at the Icebox, the Anchorage Shatterdome. Chuck’s accent blended in with a dozen from around the world. Dad had taught him the basics of fighting and a few dirty tricks just in case. It didn’t stop the trainers from dumping him on his ass, though he put up more of a fight than everyone except Mako Mori, the Marshal’s daughter. Mori was slender, sharply intelligent, and so very feminine even as she stood her ground. Chuck wanted to like her. She felt the same drive for vengeance as he did, but he looked at the blue in her hair and her delicate build and was deeply, fiercely jealous. It only got worse when Chuck saw Pentecost smile at her. There was no mistaking the pride in his eyes. The next time they faced off in the kwoon room, Chuck took the demerit and left a six inch bruise on her shoulder. He apologized of course, even felt a little bad afterwards. But the reputation it earned him, as a mean, driven bastard, wasn’t something he could regret.

Mori was popular with the other trainees. The smart ones, who noticed that Chuck could have pulled his hit and didn’t, started avoiding him after his and Mori’s encounter. It wasn’t a great loss. A few of them were from Sydney and might have inconveniently remembered Herc Hansen had a daughter if they were given a reason to think about it.

One of the Russian recruits, older than Chuck and Mori, tried, in broken English, to make peace as Chuck did his best to offend everyone else so thoroughly they never spoke to him. Aleksis was steady, kind, and, while far from stupid, spoke best with his fists. Chuck was good at making sure their conversations ended in their shared preference of lingua franca. Eventually, even the stubborn Russian gave up and left Chuck alone.

Chuck knew he was being too paranoid. There was always risk. Mum never lied about the danger Charli could be in if some people found out. Charli just had faith Dad would handle anything that came up. Chuck didn’t care to draw the lines between the blow out with Dad and his shiny, new introversion. Not that it mattered. Dad was the best Jaeger pilot in the world, and he’d never had a perfectly matched partner before. Once Chuck finished training, he was going right back to Sydney. No drift meant no need to trust any of his yearmates. Until Pentecost pulled him aside and told him to get used to Mori, they’d be tested for drift compatibility. Dread tinged Chuck’s days as he prayed to Mum’s god, who he hadn’t ever really belived in, for that they weren’t drift compatible.

The Ranger trainees got a week of leave six months into the program. The two weeks pre-dating leave were psychologically, physically, and emotionally stressful as all the weak links were drummed out. Chuck was dueling for the title top of his class with Mori, acing simulations, hand to hand, and tactics alike. They’d also tested for drift compatibility. The results of which neither would receive until after the week. Aleksis made the cut too, dragging a little in the sims. The Russian woman who taught their mechanical failure responses course had been testing with them. Chuck was certain she and Aleksis would be partnered within the year. He tried not to think about the future, when he'd be assigned a partner who could see that Chuck wasn't actually Chuck Hansen. So it was exhausted, dirty, and swallowing his trepidation, Chuck Hansen came back to spend a week avoiding his father.

Dad didn't even look up from the report he was writing when Chuck banged through the door. "Take a shower. I can smell you from here." The words were clipped, impersonal, eons away from the gentle amusement they used to have.

"Yes, sir," Chuck snapped, dropping his duffle on his old bed and stripping off in living area, daring Dad to say something. Dad didn't take the bait, but the water was hot and the soap not the harsh, industrial kind that left a rash on Chuck's legs.

When Chuck finished with his shower, wandering out with a towel around his waist, Dad was still resolutely looking at his report. There was a puppy on the bed next to Chuck's duffel, snoring lustily. It was a bulldog like the one from the cartoons Charli loved so much. Chuck sat down carefully on the cot to keep the towel in place. Slowly, he reached out and delicately ran a finger across the soft fur. Dad cleared his throat, "He's for you. To keep you company. It's already been approved. He'll go back with you. So train him, okay?"

It was a little sick that Dad was trying to make up for rejecting Chuck by giving him a dog to love him unconditionally. Chuck couldn't bring himself to care. "Hello, mate," he whispered to the snorting puppy. "Hello, Max. You're a good boy."

Max was the next revelation for Chuck. After Max, Dad never tried to touch him again. The results came back two days early because Pentecost wasn’t a complete sadist. Chuck was compatible with Mori, but Dad had requested him. So the point was moot. They didn’t talk about the paperwork Dad must have filed at the last minute. Instead, they obsessed over the damn dog like Max was a baby. Dad was actually worse than Chuck, never wanting to be too harsh for fear Max might get upset. It was a sort of equilibrium to a situation no one enjoyed, providing enough stability for Chuck and his father to pilot Vulcan Specter then Striker Eureka. But not enough for them to ever talk.

They drifted before they had to fight, of course. It took two dry runs to sync themselves properly with Vulcan. The first time, Dad held too much back. Trying to grasp the handshake was like hanging onto a greased rope. Chuck gave himself a bloody nose and two red eyes clinging to the thread of connection by his mental fingernails. The run ended when Chuck collapsed on the floor in a seizure from the sheer stress of trying to breech the blocks. He wasn’t sure what happened between the ‘Oh shit’ moment black took over his brain and waking up in the infirmary. No one spoke about it, and the faceplate of Chuck’s helmet was shattered.

When he went back to review the video from the cockpit, his heart nearly stopped. Dad had broken two safety lines getting to Chuck’s side. He’d shattered the helmet with the armor on his elbow to get rid of the relay gel. It took Chuck several minutes to follow the rest of the story as he dug through hallway footage. Dad had carried him from the conn-pod to the infirmary at a dead sprint. Chuck never mentioned his digging, but that night he didn’t needle Dad over dinner.

The second drift was a sickening lurch of a data dump. Usually, pilots drifting for the first team merged slowly, thread by thread. Dad, terrified of another collapsed link-up, didn’t bother filtering. Chuck fell into the stream of his father’s consciousness and memories. He knew not to chase the rabbit. But he caught a flash of himself, shirtless and so painfully young. Except, the scene was off kilter. Chuck had forced himself to live with the flat planes of his chest and the straight edged jaw. Dad didn’t see that though. Even though Chuck looked exactly like the image in the bathroom mirror when he was fourteen, there was something distinctly feminine about it. A parental pride that said ‘My girl. My beautiful girl.’ This was Charli.

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” Dad said heavily. Chuck turned around in surprise. Dad looked like himself in the present, standing in the middle of their old suite in his drivesuit. There was something about his face though, when Chuck turned around. Dad looked shattered. “Kid…”

Chuck looked down. “Goddammit!” He reached up. She reached up and touched the hair hanging past her ears in the uneven bob she’d worn from ages eight to fourteen. The drivesuit armor curved snuggly around a modest bust, flaring slightly over slim but feminine hips. Charli was a stout, Australian woman. More apt to be called ‘handsome figure’ than beautiful.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dad said, taking her hand. “Let the rabbit go. I’ll get you steady.”

Pushing herself out of the memory, Charli landed solidly in their shared headspace. It looked like Vulcan’s Conn-Pod. It was identical to the reality he saw through his eyes except for one detail. In headspace, Charli was piloting with Dad.

“Let’s do this,” Charli said, trying to ignore Dad’s throbbing, broken heart melded with hers. “Control, we’re ready for Phase One testing.”

Every time they drifted, Chuck became Charli. He tried to stop, but all expended effort only caused a killer headache and no change. Dad never said anything. Chuck knew from the drift Dad preferred having Charli at his side, his little girl all grown up and so dangerous. So it became one of the things they don’t about.

The day they took Striker to Hong Kong, and Chuck saw Sasha Kaidonovsky he knew why Dad always felt a little heartbroken after dealing with the Russians. The other pilot bleached her hair blond, wore a slashes of crimson lipstick like blood, and lined her eyes in kohl, daring anyone to try her. Through the ghost drift, Chuck got flash of Charli, age twelve, wearing too much red lipstick and beating up a boy who'd taken her friend's candy whenever Sasha laughed where Dad could hear. They don't talk about that either.

In the drift, Stacker Pentecost didn't bring anything, but Chuck brought everything. Stacker didn't comment, though it was impossible to miss the stream of images and the deep-seated discomfort of his own body Chuck couldn't shake. Dad had never spoken about it out loud. Chuck never drifted with anyone else. In this new headspace, he was still Charli. He didn’t look at Pentecost. Discretely British, the only thing Pentecost pressed forward were his words from before, "You are your father's daughter. We'll be fine."

Chuck smiled a broken little smile hidden by turning his head away. "If we're doing this, you should call me Charli."

“Who is that?” Raleigh asked through a mouthful of rice, pointing his chopsticks awkwardly at the photo Herc couldn’t bring himself to put away. A little girl in a pink t-shirt and cut off fatigues belted to her waist with frayed optical cording held the hand of a Jaeger. All that was visible of the machine was a few curled fingers, but it was enough to make it obvious the Jaeger was holding her hand back. The girl wore a wide, wild smile.

“My daughter,” Herc choked out. “Charli.”

Distantly he heard Raleigh say, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Herc swallowed hard and put his head down on the table. He’d never had the words and that hadn’t changed.


	5. Done Your Daddy Proud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this story are actually taken from things I heard an Aussie say while we were getting drunk together. No idea how much of that was him yanking my chain and what was real.
> 
> In response to this prompt: http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/350.html?thread=1237854#t1237854
> 
> Warnings for roofieing and attempted sexual assault, Herc and Lynn swearing, and violence.

1) "I swear to God, Herc," Angela snarled. "I can't take another fucking minute. He's been screaming since three o'clock /yesterday/ morning. It's not colic. His nappy's dry. He won't eat. He's not sick. He. Just. Won't. Shut. UP!"

"Just hang on, sweetheart," Herc said, weaving his motorbike through traffic on Route 32 towards home. "I'm on my way. Leave 'im on his cot and get your things. You should stay at your mum's tonight."

Angela took a deep, wet breath. "Thank you. Christ, thank you, Herc. I'm gonna kill him if I don't get some sleep."

Herc's heart clenched. Angela was a great mother, but everyone had their breaking point. And hers had flown past at thirty-six hour mark. She'd called him crying, telling him how she'd left Chuck in his room alone. If she didn't, she was going to shake Chuck until he rattled. Herc had requested emergency family leave and run for his bike.

Angela called him back fifteen minutes later pleading with him to do anything. Herc kept her on the line through the headset in his helmet as a precaution. Home was an hour and half away from the base. The bike growling under him in protest, Herc was going to make it in an hour flat.

"Just breathe, baby," he said reassuringly. "Our boy'll be fine alone 'til I get there. You packing?"

Angela sniffed, "Yeah. Thank you so much. But your meetings…"

"She'll be apples," Herc interrupted. "Yeah? Are okay on your own for a bit? I'm thirty minutes out, and traffic's getting tricky."

"Yeah. I'll just let him be then," Angela said thickly. "Oh God. Herc…"

"Get to your mum's," Herc repeated firmly. "You need a night of real sleep." Angela agreed, still breathy with tears and hung up. The car in front Herc braked suddenly. Herc jumped his bike up onto the median, giving the driver two fingers as he sped past.

He actually passed his mother-in-law's car at the turn off for the suburb he'd bought Angela a house in. Tires squealed as he veered into the short drive way, parking his bike on the access path that ran around the side of the house. The door opened with a bang. Even from the front door, Chuck's screaming could be clearly heard.

Angela looked like ten miles of bad road in the rainy season. Herc set his helmet to the side as he dismounted. A swift yank on the zipper opened his leather jacket. So Angela could fit her arms around his chest with only the thin cotton of his shirt separating them. He hushed into her hair, holding her close. "I passed your mum on the way in. You're fine now." The sound of their baby wailing was like a ice pick piercing behind his eye, grating and triggering a flood of protective adrenaline all at once.

Rebecca pulled up the drive, scowling grimly at Herc. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her. "Go on," he told his wife with a hard kiss. "I've got the baby."

Chuck didn't stop crying when Herc picked him up. If anything, his raspy, little screams got worse. Herc wanted to cry with him, because if Angela couldn't fix it then nothing could. They walked around the house, Herc swaying with every step. "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, merry, merry king of the bush is he…"

2) "Hansen," Provost Reynolds barked, "get the fuck out of that helicopter, wanker." Herc ignored the MP, continuing his pre-flight check. "Hansen, I'm serious. If you try to lift off, I'll shoot you. This fucking insane. There's nothing you can do." He didn't sound happy as he popped the band off his sidearm. "Please, Herc. Don't do this." Reynolds wasn't the bad sort. Just an avid follower of the book which was going to kill Herc's family.

The rotors cut dull, rumbling paths through air as they started to spin. Vibrations traveled through the body of the copter. It felt like the shakes that had taken hold of Herc's whole body. He couldn't stop the tremors. They'd been his constant companion since he'd heard the evacuation order. "Hansen!" Reynolds was stepping up into the helicopter. His gun was out, held low in the Weaver stance. Herc stood up and intercepted the gun starting to raise towards him. Some level of hand to hand was required for all RAAF officers. Herc had been part of 171st Aviation Squadron before being seconded to the newly formed Pan Pacific Defense Corp. He had more than the standard level of training. All of it was focused on defending his cockpit against hostile takeover.

"My son's there," he snarled. Reynolds screamed as the trigger guard caught his finger and broke it as Herc twisted. Herc kicked off the side of the copter to slam his knee into Reynolds ribs, controlling the gun and by extension Reynolds' arm. "My son. Don't you get in my fuckin' way, Reynolds. I'll fuckin' kill you." He brutally ripped the gun free, tucking it into his own belt. Reynolds' hand was a twisted mess of broken bones and torn tendons. He clutched it to his chest, yowling pain as Herc kicked him from the helicopter.

Reynolds sprawled on the pavement, staring up at Herc. "Hansen, think this through," he gasped in between whimpers.

"I have," Herc said as he closed the side door.

There was going to be hell to pay when Herc got back. He'd stolen RAAF property and assaulted an military police officer attempting to stop the crime. There wasn't enough time to rescue either Angela or Chuck. All he could do is put push the engines as hard as he could and point the nose towards his son. The rest was in universe's careless hands. If Scissure was delayed (if Scott had managed to get him ten minutes), there was a chance Herc might not die a traitor.

3) "You can't keep a child in a Shatterdome." Counselor O'Brien said, rubbing her temples. "I'm sorry, Captain Hansen. But all CPS will see is the complete lack of facilities to meet Chuck's needs. I'll personally oversee his placement."

"No." Herc crossed his arms as glared at the woman.

O'Brien shook her head, looking down at the papers. "We already have a court order to hand him over, sir." She slipped back into military parlance despite the fact as part of the PPDC she was outside the traditional structure she'd come from. "Your brother is not a fit guardian, and they won't consider letting you keep Chuck without someone else who can be responsible for him while you attend to your duties."

Herc curled his hands around his cap, hiding the gesture in his lap. "Scott is just my co-pilot. He doesn't have any duties outside of training and call-outs for a reason, Counselor. What the bloody hell is the problem?"

Closing the folder, O'Brien blew out a long breath between her front teeth. "You know why, sir."

"The goddamn charges were dropped," Herc said tightly. "He's bloody innocent."

"He was charged though," O'Brien pointed out. "That's all the courts care. Look, I can fight this, but I need someone else. Anyone, sir. Clean record, proven history with handling responsibility. Finically stable. The rest is just transport. We'll need an education plan. And you and your brother will need bigger quarters. Just me find a fuckin' responsible adult, sir."

Herc smoothed down the fabric of his cap. "Can you give me a day?"

O'Brien shrugged, "We can't get any more buggered. So yeah. You've got a day. I'll see you tomorrow at nine." She gathered up her papers. "Now get the fuck out my office so I can drink in peace. I didn't sign up to take boys away from their parents."

Cap in hand, Herc rose and walked silently down hallways of the newly built Shatterdome. He made his way down to the launch bay to look at Lucky Seven. The technicians and engineers were putting the finishing touches on her. The senior technician and project engineer, the Old Lady in the jargon of the those that built Jaegers, was helping weld the seams of one of the chest plates. Tethered in the harness several feet away, checking her cooling seams, was Chuck. Carpenter pushed up her face mask to check on boy. Whatever she said made Chuck laugh.

Herc knew Lynn Carpenter's jacket inside and out. She was building his Jaeger. Polytech grad, Masters of Science in Robotics. Prestigious industrial robotics consultant prior to K-Day. Assisted in rescue efforts and clean up of Sydney. Even with the economy in the shitter, she had a stash of precious metal funds which she'd drawn on to help Herc buy O'Brien's presence in the first place. She didn't like Scott. And his brother called her a bitch and cunt to her face. But she liked Herc. He'd caught enough snatches of locker room talk among the female technicians to know Carpenter wouldn't have minded him being single when they met. Even as she respected his skill as pilot and ranger.

She'd also taken to Chuck, awkwardly but sweet, and Herc's son adored her. He was only a week motherless and spending time with Carpenter, working on the Jaeger, seemed to help with the panic attacks and crying fits. Her pragmatic mentality, as emotionally clumsy as any engineer's, seemed to be some sort balm to Chuck's grief. In turn, she'd allowed Chuck to integrate himself with crew, actively encouraging him to work with them. Herc suspected she planned to turn his son into a Jaeger engineer. It was something like an idea. So he changed out of his uniform into workout clothes and spent the rest of the day training with Scott. For once, Scott kept his opinions to himself. He knew why family court wanted to take his nephew.

Afterwards, Herc showered but didn't shave, pulling on old BDU pants and a henley worn nearly see through. Chuck was curled up in Herc's bunk. Working with the crew exhausted him, but they were good about getting him fed before someone dropped him off in Herc's quarters to clean himself up before crashing. Herc pulled the covers up around the boy's shoulder, stroking the feathery blond hair spread over the pillow. Angela was less than a week dead, and her son was going to be taken from him if he didn't do something. God forgive him. Angela would. She'd do anything to keep her boy where he was safe and loved.

"Watch him tonight," Herc ordered Scott gruffly. "Wake him if he has another nightmare. I won't be back 'til late."

"Do you know what you're doing?" Scott asked quietly.

Herc picked up his leather jacket with Lucky Seven's emblem on it's back and didn't bother lacing up his boots. He knew exactly what he was doing. Armed with a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label, he went and knocked on the door of Carpenter's quarters. She answered with a snarl of profanity and t-shirt that made it clear she wasn't wearing a bra. When she saw the bottle, she relaxed. "Come on in then. I'll get the mugs."

He sat on the bottom edge of her cot, stripping off his jacket and tossing it on her desk chair. The cot had bolted the floor to keep it from folding up. Carpenter came back from the bathroom with a pair of mismatched coffee mugs. "It's the only place to put the dish drainer," she explained as she held them out to be filled. The one printed with Lucky Seven's emblem she gave Herc. Hers said 'This is Not Rocket Science' with lines of code and circuit schematics on it. They sipped in silence through the first shot. Herc topped them off as Carpenter finally asked, "Now, why do I get a pressie?"

"I can't drink with the woman who's building me a Jaeger?" Herc asked rhetorically.

Carpenter snorted. "Pull the other one, it's got bells on." She crawled over to sit cross legged on her pillow facing him. "We're not friends Hansen. Booze aside." She raised an eyebrow gone ragged around the edges. No one had much time for vanity these days, but the traces still remained. Before she wore coveralls and cut her hair short, Carpenter had cared about her appearance. She had probably been beautiful in her suits with dark liner to match her nearly black eyes. There was no one to impress now, and she'd left the accruements of her old life behind. Now, her sly, warm smile, bright white offset by a round, dark face, was surprisingly pretty for a woman who made men twice her size cower with respect.

It wasn't as hard as it should have been for Herc to lean forward, gently grasp her chin, and kiss her. Carpenter didn't stop him, reaching up and laying a hand on his chest. When he tilted his head to deepen the liplock, she pushed him away. "I'm not a saint, Hansen. You're fuckable as any boy in a magazine I've seen. But the woman who's the center of your universe isn't even cold yet. So, care to tell me why you're acting like a wanker?"

Herc wanted to laugh. Carpenter's eyebrow was impressively high at this point. It was almost cartoonish. "You telling me no, Lynn?" If the words felt desperate and choking, they still came out as a low growl.

Her eyes darted over his chest and arms, lingering on his mouth. She wasn't being subtle. "My boyfriend died in Sydney, Herc."

"I didn't know," Herc stuttered out. He swallowed the rest of his scotch, coughing as it caught in his throat. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

Carpenter shrugged. "We've been on and off since college. He was hired as a structural engineer for the Shatterdome, staying on as part of the maintenance crew. We were thinking about making a permanent arrangement. But he used to drive semis to pay for school. He was helping to transport people out the city. They told me he went back for one last load… He got the truck out of the blast radius, but not out of the fallout. Acute radiation poisoning. He died three days ago." She sipped her scotch, blinking through the tears like she hadn't noticed them. "So don't think you're a special bloody snowflake, Hansen. Twelve years I loved him, even when we weren't close enough to make it work."

Herc refilled her mug. "Buggering fuck. I'm sorry, Lynn. I didn't know."

She wiped her face carelessly. "It's not like we took out an advert."

"Still, I'm a blodger for pulling this horseshit." Herc topped himself off. "Fuck. I need a favor, Lynn."

Carpenter snorted, cleaning off her face with the hem of her shirt. "You yobbo. It's about your anklebiter isn't it?" Her words were still clear despite her being half way through her third drink in an hour. Herc tilted his head, asking without saying. "No one else you'd be willing to pawn your ass for, Hansen."

Herc managed a broken sort of laugh to match her watery smile. "They're going to take him if I can't find someone who's not my brother to take care of him with me."

"That all?" Carpenter said thickly. "You may not have noticed, Herc, but my crew and I already take care of Little Red while you're off playing ranger. Just give me the paper. I'll sign the dotted line to make it official." She smirked sadly at his baffled look. "Everyone's tired of loosing everything. It's not like your boy would be any better off on the mainland. At least Jaeger babies always have their crews. Now shut up. All I want to do is get rotten and forgot all the civilians we helped kill." She held out her mug imperiously.

With a huff of grim bemusement, Herc poured. They worked their through the bottle, leaning against each other to stay upright. When Carpenter finally called it, the bottle was laying sideways on the floor, a dead soldier. They ended up laying head to toe with Herc using the blanket as a pillow to sleep. Before he could drift off, Carpenter jammed a foot into his neck. "What's that about, ya bastard," he grunted.

Carpenter giggled before getting serious again. "If I ever find you in my bed again, Hansen, I'm pissin' in your relay gel."

"Fair dinkum deal, Carpenter," Herc muttered, tucking her toes under his arm to keep her feet warm.

4) "They want to talk to Chuck," O'Brien said, holding her clipboard up defensively. Despite having handled legal issues and public relations for the Hansen family since she helped Herc navigate family court, O'Brien still acted like Herc might grow fur and fangs and try to eat her when he was cranky.

"He's sixteen," Herc growled, moving into the next stance of his kata. "The deal was they'd fuck off until he reached the age of majority. And you wouldn't sue them into the ground for emotional damages, slander and libel, or for making kiddie porn out of him."

O'Brien sighed gustily, lowering her clipboard slightly. "Yes. With main stream media which still likes to pretend it's respectable. These people are as trashy tabloid as you can get. And they have some pictures which I need to know the origin of. Sir, it's /bad/."

Herc stopped. O'Brien was always high-strung, but she looked furious instead of just flustered. "What pictures?" He asked quietly. Out of one of her omnipresent folders, O'Brien pulled out a stack of pixelated color photos printed by the ancient machine she shared with the engineering crews.

"It looks like a few weeks before Scissure," O'Brien said, calming down to grim resignation. "And for the record, at this point I'm invoking legal professional privilege. Anything you say will be confidential."

The pictures were obviously copies of copies, but the point was clear enough. Chuck, age eleven, had bruises on his face and arms. "I don't know what happened," Herc forced out between gritted teeth. "He was so banged up from being tossed around the chopper and everything before, these would have blended right in. Christ, I hadn't seen in him in three months before Scissure hit."

"Okay," O'Brien said in the coolest, most professional tone Herc had ever heard from her. "And I take it we're not asking Chuck." She snorted at Herc's grimace. "Great. There's nothing to stop them from publishing these with whatever headline they can come up with." She hugged her clipboard and started deep breathing.

Herc looked at the photos, obviously cropped from someone else's day at the park. There was no context. Nothing that he recognized from the drift. Just Chuck with more bruises than even an adventurous boy should have, and Herc realizing he had no idea how his son had been hurt. "Those vultures are going to crucify him." He set his face into an immobile mask. "What do I have to do to stop it?"

O'Brien gaped at him. "I… I…" She bit her lip hard enough Herc winced. "When was the last time you did an interview? And not just someone shoving a camera into your face while you snarl and don't say anything."

"The last interview I did was that circle jerk in Alaska," Herc said after moment. "I'm a soldier, not a symbol."

"That," O'Brien said with a sort of amused detachment fueled by sheer panic, "I can work with. I'm going to call them and stall my arse off. Then I'm going to promise them an in depth interview with you in something other than your bloody RAAF uniform like it's my last resort. Which it is. And you're going to agree. They're going to ask hugely invasive questions about you, your wife, your brother, and Chuck. You're going to answer those questions honestly, and we're going to make them feel like real journalists. That way they'll agree to let me edit the fucking article."

Herc swallowed. O'Brien looked a little like she was going into shock at her own suggestion. He'd mostly avoided the pop icon idolization Jaeger pilots endured. The media liked their pilots young and idealistic. A battered old soldier wasn't more than footnote. Until he'd partnered with Chuck, Herc hadn't even spoken to a reporter outside a pre-written statement. Even then, Carpenter and her crew, O'Brien and her staff, and Herc had worked hard to keep Chuck safely tucked away from a world that thought sacrificing his childhood to the Jaeger program wasn't enough. "Okay."

"Okay then," O'Brien muttered, reaching for her pen and making notes on her clipboard. She paused. "You're going to have to give them blood and gore, sir. That's non-negotiable."

"I figured," Herc shrugged. "They're welcome to it so long as they leave my boy alone."

5) It wasn't often Chuck could be convinced to go out. Going from a normal child to a Jaeger baby raised on engines per muscle strand and the strength of weld had taken it's toll. Chuck preferred the Shatterdome, its familiar faces and set routines, to the civilian world. He took little pleasure in music that wasn't coming out of speaker attached to someone's tool harness and movies didn't interest him unless Herc was there to nap against. Beer and liquor were something consumed in sips from the crews' mugs and bottles after shift when they sat around yabbering with each other to unwind.

Still, an eighteenth birthday was nothing to scoff at. Especially since Chuck had killed five kaiju by then. Striker's crew had rented out the back room of a pub in rebuilt Sydney and the entire Shatterdome had chipped in to fund the open bar and food not from ration packs. Carpenter had set up a guest list, made up of Chuck's close friends from among the crew which were less than ten years older than him, Herc, and every pretty boy and pretty girl with a brain the population of the Shatterdome could find. The rest of Striker's crew and sundry personal from the Shatterdome had taken over the public area of the pub, forming a protective layer around the familiar bubble Striker's crew had created for Chuck to celebrate in.

Herc was actually hopeful as he sat in the back with is beer, watching the ebb and flow visitors around Chuck. His son had settled himself in the center of Striker's youngest technicians, laughing with his friends as they flirted with the new blood. A small group of two women and a man had settled close to Chuck. The birthday boy was vaguely disconcerted, but the people who raised him had chosen well. The interested parties weren't trying to manhandle Chuck, sticking to body language and conversation to vie for his attention. For once, Chuck looked like he was actually enjoying the himself.

Chuck stood up, collecting his beer the shorter of the two women and the man, before wandering past Herc. "You seen Lynnie?" he asked. "I know she and Benny set this up." Carpenter's second in command was also responsible for the low throb of classic rock instead of anything more modern providing background noise.

"Rest of the crew's out front," Herc said. He hid his smile. Chuck was drunk enough to lean against Herc's back, warm and heavy. Herc patted his son's hip fondly. "She's probably loaded right now. I saw her German bloke earlier."

"So stay out of the alley in the back," Chuck replied with smirk. "Got it, old man. I'll just go find Benny instead." He was relaxed enough to tap the woman's shoulder and the man's back. "I'll be just a minute. Have another drink while I'm gone."

The woman smiled brightly, "Only if you're finally going to admit that optics are better than fluid synaptics."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," said Chuck's other new friend.

"You are both so wrong and you don't even know it," Chuck crowed with a easy grin. "And I will prove it to you. Soon as I find my Old Lady and Big Brother." The two civilians gave him variations on the same, puzzled expression. "The head of my Jaeger crew and her second in command," Chuck shrugged. He breezed away, tossing them another heartbreaker smile over his shoulder. His conquests headed back to the bar for fresh drinks.

Herc didn't think much more about it until a half hour later when Chuck still hadn't returned and his new friends were sharing worried glances. A little bit of focus to find the ghost drift, and Herc felt nauseous. Maybe Chuck had a shot to many. Putting his beer to the side, Herc straightened up and cleared a path over to the two of them by force of will. The woman was chewing on her lip, concerned. "You two sober enough to be useful?" Herc asked evenly.

"Yeah," the man said. "Yes, sir." An American or Canadian maybe. He had soft brown eyes, like Max left in the care of Striker's on duty crew at the Shatterdome.

"Start combing the front room, restrooms. He doesn't feel well. Might have had too much to drink." Herc explained.

The woman's eyes went sharp. "You're ghost drifting with him."

Herc narrowed his eyes slightly. "We spend a lot of time in the drift. After awhile, it just becomes a sixth sense." She quelled at the implied rebuke. "I'll check outside. If you find him or anything, tell a crew member with Striker Eureka's emblem on their jacket. They'll know what to do." Both kids nodded obediently. Herc pushed through the crowd into the front room. Carpenter was at that bar with Benny Broussard on her left. The big, German security officer she fucked, John or Hans or something like that, was on her right.

Carpenter waved Herc over with a drunken grin. "Is the sprog enjoying himself?"

"He was," Herc said, leaning in close to be heard over the music. "He left to find you and Broussard a half hour ago. Haven't seen him since. He doesn't feel well, Lynn."

Her eyes lost their glazed over expression. "You're tapping in right now?" Herc nodded. "Shit. Okay." She squeezed the German's hand and addressed her second. "Benny. Put out the word, quietly, we lost our boy. Try not panic the civilians."

"I'm checking outside," Herc said, keeping his voice low. "He's a bit chilled. But that could just be too many drinks."

Carpenter nodded, lips pressed in a hard line. "I'll cover the inside top to bottom. Jan, go with Hansen. Don't even start with me, Ranger," she said, anticipating Herc. "Backup is never a bad idea."

It was actually one of Vulcan's crew who found Chuck being pinned to a dumpster with a stranger's hand down his pants. The woman, a robotics technician, yelled for help even as she jumped the slimy bastard who was trying to rape Herc's boy. Herc and Jan made it just in time to see her get concussed against a brick wall. She hung on, swearing in Afrikaans, until Herc yelled at her to get out of the way.

Herc would have killed the fucker if Jan hadn't pulled him of when Chuck's assailant stopped moving. "I will clean up," Jan said, his accent thickened by stress. "You need to get Little Red out of here."

"That piece of shit is not walking away," Herc snarled. He was startled by the lack of humanity in his own voice.

"No. But famous Rangers can't afford murder investigations," Jan pointed out harshly. He glanced at the technician, "Tell Striker's Big Brother and Old Lady I need them." She groaned assent and, head in hands, stumbled back towards the pub entrance. "We will dump the corpse in a dead zone. No worries." When Herc didn't look convinced, Jan added, "Who will take care of your son if they no longer let you pilot Jaegers?"

"Fuck, bugger, shit," Herc hissed between his teeth. "You're a Prussian cunt, you know that?"

"Eat me," Jan replied with a blackly cheerful smile.

Herc bared his teeth at the man before kneeling down to check on Chuck. The reason no panic or even major discomfort had alerted Herc through the ghost drift was obvious. His boy was higher than a kite, body loose and mind drifting in its own world. Gently, Herc smoothed Chuck's hair off his forehead, checking for head injuries. Other than being doped to the gills, there wasn't any damage. Herc reached down and zipped up his son's fly, snapping the button of the cargo pants closed. Chuck murmured at the contact, flinching away.

"Shh," Herc murmured. "It's just me, son." He buckled Chuck's belt then lifted his boy in a shoulder carry with a loud grunt. It had been a long time since Chuck wanted to be held by his father. An easy hundred pounds of muscle difference from the last time he was carried to bed. Herc already had a bitter suspicion about how his son ended up like this. For all of Chuck's skill as a fighter, he was a Jaeger baby, raised in a Shatterdome. He'd grown up in a community of people who might smack him for being cheeky but would never hurt him, turning like a pack of rabid dogs on anyone who did. Someone handing him a drink wouldn't have even registered. Everything he ate and drank was handed to him other people.

Chuck lived in a world where the only things that hurt you were giant monsters and maybe a training accident. And a gutless, careless father who never taught his son people could be dangerous too.

There was a car at the entrance to the alley. One of Striker's crewmen was driving. Vulcan's injured technician was in the passenger seat with a towel to her head. Herc silently slid his son into the back seat before crawling after him, hooking the door shut behind him. The driver pulled smoothly away from the curb, not fast, almost lazy. Then again, Carpenter wouldn't have sent anyone who might panic and draw attention.

With the walls of the Shatterdome around them, Herc could finally relax. He settled Chuck in his own bunk waiting while a nurse took blood for testing. She didn't seem overly concerned, advising Herc to make his son comfortable and let him sleep it off. Herc wasn't sure he believed her, but he was too tired to argue. So boots and belt got stripped off both of them. He collected Max from the duty crew and tucked his warm, little body into Chuck's side.

Comfortable as they could be, Herc curled around his boy and the dog, rubbing Chuck's back and crooning, "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree…" to stop the boy's restless twitching until the drugged unconsciousness ceded to real sleep.

+1) Chuck woke up warm. It felt like floating at first, then colors tumbled into place. He wasn't supposed to wake up. There was something in his throat, forcing his lungs to expand. It hurt. Years spent training for a motion harness and locked in a drivesuit kept him from clawing at his face. Attacking the machines attached to your body, even if they were hurting you, was a bad idea. Instead, he carefully raised a hand that wasn't attached to an IV and waved three fingers in the slow circle that meant 'I'm in distress and can't speak'. No one responded.

Blinking back tears, Chuck repeated his plea. He couldn't move his head. It was locked in some kind of frame. All he could see was the grey ceiling of the Shatterdome infirmary. He was alone. Carefully, he reached up with his free hand and probed around his mouth. It felt like he was being choked as he tried to match his breathing to the air forced down his throat. He'd been intubated, poking around his mouth he could feel the plastic and tape there. The frame seemed like some sort of medical device with the tell-tale signs of sloppy welds that meant it'd been assembled overnight.

Flexing the fingers of his other hand confirmed he had at least one IV in him. He had to get rid of that first. The tube down his throat would require both hands to pull. Laying both hands on his chest, he felt for the tape holding the needle in place. Calm and steady through the burning pain. Dad had always said you only kept your head if you could keep it. He got his nails under the tape and started peeling it from his skin, trying not to tug the needle.

"Oi, stop that," Dad said softly, voice heavy with sleep. He gently tugged Chuck's free hand away. "Can't even settle in your sleep." There was a light brush over Chuck's hair. Dad was tentative, which explained the frame. Chuck had some sort of skull or neck injury severe enough Dad was afraid of aggravating it with a touch. Flexing his fingers to try to get the old man's attention, Chuck found his hand smoothed down over the covers again. "Easy, baby boy, easy. I'm here."

Chuck closed his eyes and tried to scream in frustration. Dad must have caught something because he grasped Chuck's hand and cleared his throat. "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree. Merry, merry king of the bush is he." The song, words hoarse, stirred a thousand memories for Chuck. Some from the drift, the rest his own. Herc Hansen wasn't a gentle man. It was the only lullaby he knew. The off key tune had been Dad's favorite if awkward way of soothing him. Chuck hadn't heard it since he'd left for Ranger training.

Raising his hand back to his chest, Chuck waved his fingers again. This time Dad made a wet gasping noise. "Jesus. Nurse, nurse!" Chuck relaxed as Dad's face appeared in his field of vision. "Shh, baby boy, someone'll be here to get that tube out." Dad continued to pet Chuck's bangs. "You've got a bad skull fracture. Part of the escape pod got blown in and hit your head." There was another deep, wet inhale. "The breech was closed six days ago. We found you two days later. You weren't…" Dad's eyes were wet as he gathered himself. "Lynnie Carpenter ended up breathing for you most of the way home."

Chuck tapped his chest twice to indicate he understood. A nurse finally showed up to extract the tube from his throat under Dad's watchful gaze. She set them up with a cup full of ice chips and went to find a doctor to see if Chuck's head could be released from the support frame. Dad very carefully fed Chuck an ice chip. It wasn't their first rodeo with intubation. A bad handshake with another pilot candidate had caused a brain bleed that required Chuck to be tubed. Chuck had perfected the art of not choking on the only water he was allowed during his first recovery.

"Get that down your gob," Dad said gently, patting Chuck's lips dry with a hand towel. Like it was a ritual, he reached for a jar of petroleum jelly and dabbed a thin coat on Chuck's lips. From the doorway, a familiar cough caused Dad to look up. "He's awake, Tendo. I'll deal with those empty suits tomorrow."

"Yes, Marshal," Tendo said. He seemed subdued, "but the Prime Minister…"

"Fuck." Herc bared his teeth unconsciously. "I'll speak to him. Could you?"

"I'll look after him," Tendo promised.

Dad grimaced. He snaked his head and neck through the frame to kiss Chuck's forehead. Chuck was doped enough he couldn't even react. By the time he managed a puzzled noise, Dad was down the hall and Tendo was in view. "Take it easy, kiddo. Your old man's heart can't take another set back." He gave Chuck another spoonful of ice chips.

"He looks like shit," Chuck whispered hoarsely. "What happened?"

"You died," Tendo said grimly. "Once on your girl Carpenter. Then again on the table. Your old man camped out here as soon as you got out of surgery. He's the Marshal now. So we moved all operations to the hall outside this damn room. The mountain coming to Mohamed and all." Chuck couldn't conceal his surprise. "It's Herc, Chuck boy," Tendo reminded him kindly. "God himself couldn't move your dad with you in a hospital bed."


	6. Stories from a Shatterdome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a request for some stories about the members of Striker's crew who show up in my shorts. The most prominent being Lynn Carpenter, senior technician heading the crew, and Benny Broussard, her second in command. There's a lot more than that running around, but they have the most interactions with the Hansens.

1) Benny Broussard - Louisiana boy, former mine foreman with a degree in mechanical engineering

Benny Broussard was running late. He hissed to himself under his breath in broken but profane English. The buckles of his harness clacked together loudly as he jogged down the empty halls towards the Garage, the Jaeger bay. He hadn't slept well. The waves outside his window were unusually calm the day before, and the silence was unnerving. The solidity of the Shatterdome was a far cry from his houseboat back home. Six months later, he was still adjusting to falling asleep without the rocking creak of old wood around him.

He was going miss the safety briefing, and Ms. Gujjar was going to rip him a new asshole. He like Reicha. It was next to impossible to not like someone that bubbly, but she still hadn't accepted their new realty. Like Benny, she'd come from the mining industry. Unlike him, she'd worked out of a cooperate office managing safety documentation and licensing. There wasn't anyone in the Shatterdome better at legal paperwork, but the rules were different now. While Benny and the other seniors worked hard to make sure everyone got back to their rooms in one piece after shift, unacceptable meant lost time now not necessarily lost limbs and lives. The wolves were at the door and zero tolerance on safety didn't mean anything when you could be eaten by a kaiju or bombed by your own government the next day.

Reicha's militancy did have one side-effect Benny approved of. Her rules and expectations were unrealistic for how quickly and without standardization Jaeger maintenance and repairs were done, but Lucky's crew still had the lowest mortality rate in the PPDC. Tightening the straps of his climbing harness, Benny picked up his pace as the hall widened. He damn near tripped over Hansen's boy. Benny had met Lucky Seven's unofficial mascot before, mostly at the weekly crew lunches. The boy was quiet with a sort of sadness about him that wouldn't have been out of place in one of Benny's Southern Gothic novels. At the lunches, he'd stuck close to Lynn Carpenter and the first shift foreman, Theunis Van Zyl, when his father or uncle weren't around to hide behind. Still, he was just a kid and an upset one at that.

"Hey, p'tit boug," Benny said crouching down. He kept his voice low. The kid's name evaded him, and the Aussies on the crew used so much slang Benny was never sure who they were talking about. "What're you doin' out here so late? Your papa es gonna be worried if he wakes up ta ya gone." 

The boy looked puzzled as he glanced up at Benny. It looked like the kid hadn't even gotten to bed, still dressed in jeans and an oversized t-shirt with a plastic Jaeger clutched in a small fist. "Well, I am very late. So you're gonna be comin' with me to the safety briefin' 'til someone can find your papa." Benny held out his hand expectantly. The boy just stared at him. "Boy," Benny tried again. There was still no acknowledgement. He sat back on his heels. Trying to just grab the boy might lead a screaming fit. It had happened before in the commissary when someone tried to scoop him out of the way. Carpenter had the child with her a lot, kept close and out from under foot. Usually hanging onto her tool belt by a drop strap.

Pulling his heavy gloves of the line that would catch them if he dropped them, Benny clipped them to a loop on his pants instead. Then he offered the boy the line and now empty clip attached to his belt. The boy took it in his free hand, stumbling to his feet. "Ah," Benny said with an easy smile. "That's all ya wanted, huh?" He stood and started walking, adjusting to the slight tension of his belt. "Don't ya let that go now. Ya hear? Miz Lynnie'll have my skin if somethin' happens ta ya." The boy nodded obediently.

Reicha glared at Benny when he finally made it just in time for the closing overview of the safety meeting. When she finished her spiel with, "Remember, safety starts with you. You make the decision to go home at night. Broussard, all yours."

Benny stepped forward, straightening his cap as started handing out assignments. It wasn't until his crew had started heading off and Reicha was glaring at him, he realized he hadn't changed his own assignment working on Lucky Seven's right shoulder hydraulics. Hansen's boy was still hanging silently off his belt. "Ken you find Herc Hansen, Miz Gajjur?" Benny asked softly. "I got his boy."

"Herc Hansen's in Hong Kong," Reicha said testily. "Emergency call out three hours ago, political no kaiju."

Benny gritted his teeth. "I don' suppose he arranged for someone to watch his boy?"

She shook her head, lips pressed in a thin line for once not meant for him. "Scott vanished without a word about an hour ago…" She broke off to murmur in her native tongue to the boy, who was started to breath hard. "I can watch him."

Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Benny huffed. "Non. It's fine. Ken ya find the boy…"

"Red," Reicha interupted. "Lynn calls him Little Red. I don't know his name."

"P'tit Rouge," Benny repeated agreeably, "needs a fall harness. I know we don' have any maintenance harnesses his size, but what about safety harnesses?" He tugged at his own maintenance harness, more reminiscent of a rock-climbing rig than construction safety gear.

Jaegers ranged between two hundred and fifty to three hundred feet tall. Crews did heavy work off of scaffolding, but light work and testing was done in harnesses attached to lines suspended from the ceiling. Through a combination repelling gear, motorized rope ascenders, and attachment points on the Jaeger, technicians did most of their day to day work suspended in midair or perched on the Jaeger.

In the end, Benny cut down a simple fall harness, meant to catch and temporarily support, and attached the boy to his own safety line. Little Red rode up to Lucky's shoulder straddling Benny's waist, wearing a piece of climbing rope with pouches attached as a tool belt. His plastic Jaeger was safely stowed in a zippered pocket in the largest pouch. Reicha had also found the boy a simple diagnostic reader, old but still useable, pliers, some screwdrivers, and the specialized hand keys used for the Jaeger's slotted bolts. It was far from complete, but Little Red had stopped looking a like a ghost and was smiling hugely as he stared up at Lucky's approaching shoulder. It gave Benny an idea to distract the boy from his abandonment.

"He's a sturdy catin," Benny told his charge as he hooked them into the steel ring bolted to the underside of Lucky's shoulder armor. "Just needs a bit of love to keep him runnin'" Little Red nodded seriously, reaching out and laying a solemn hand on Lucky's shoulder. "Now, pay attention, p'tit, 'cause I'm gonna show you how ta take care of 'im."

Note: Yes, this is that Benny except human and with a background in mining. Characters that awesome and loveable should have less ignoble ends.

2) Theunis Van Zyl - South African drift tech specialist, ten years older than Chuck Hansen

Chuck was pacing the extent of the drivesuit room, breathing through his nose. Max was flopped on the floor in front of him, looking completely unimpressed with the whole crisis. Lynn had been very frank about how impossible it would be to act as Chuck's drivesuit technician. She and Benny had too many other responsibilities during a call-out for either to suit up Chuck. Dad's technician was an ex-RAAF man who'd traded fixing planes for fixing Jaegers. He'd offered, but Chuck wanted his first time to be with his permanent technician. Lynn promised it wouldn't be a stranger meeting him for his spine fitting.

Max grunted to his feet and started waddling towards the door, tail stump twitching spastically. Chuck turned, half expecting to see his father. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor, laaitie," Theunis Van Zyl said from the door. The small, pale man was the youngest of the Lucky Seven veterans. If Lynn was his aunt and Benny was the uncle Scott should have been, Theu was the older brother he'd never had.

Chuck threw himself at the technician. "You were going to Lima!"

"Yep," Theu said. He stumbled under Chuck's weight and nearly tripped over Max. Ranger training had put pounds of muscle on the younger man in addition to the inches of height he'd grown into. Theu had used to carry Chuck on his back like a monkey while climbing Lucky Seven. Now, Chuck's eager hug left him swaying for balance. "I went to go get your spine, Red. We didn't have any on hand that were wired properly for your age." His nails gently scratched the newly shorn hair on the back of Chuck's neck as he patted Max's head with the other.

"You're going to be my drivesuit technician," Chuck demanded, taking a step back. "Lynn can't, and Benny doesn't like wet tech."

Theu smiled, shaking his head, "That was the idea, you brat. Why do you think I got sent to South America in the first place? You didn't really think I'd leave Lynnie and the rest of you in a lurch?" Chuck's smile faded as he glanced away. With a sigh, Theu pulled him back into a hard hug, speaking in Afrikaans. Chuck hadn't ever learned much. There were too many languages in the Shatterdome to learn more than just a few curse words and some basic phrases, but he knew what Theu meant. The words had been spoken to him in a dozen languages by a dozen voices throughout his life. 'It's okay, kid. It'll be okay.'

Chuck squeezed Theu tight and buried his face in the older man's shoulder. There was blood caked on the underside of Theu's nose. It matched the stains on Lynnie's collar and Benny's sleeve. All the technicians joked about the blue creeping up on them, but Chuck could never make himself smile at the black humor.

Over the intercom, LOCCENT announced, "Striker Eureka drivesuit calibration test in ten minutes."

"You need to get naked," Theu said, shoving Chuck away with a grin. "I've got to get your circuit suit fitted before we can try the armor."

Dad and Bruce arrived as Theu worked the circuit suit up over Chuck's hips and started to make adjustments to the band of fabric on the inner thigh used to take the suit in. Chuck stared straight ahead and tried not to think about anything in particular. He was a fifteen year old boy, and there was a reason the Amercians called drivesuit technicians 'fluffers'. Dad started stripping down across from him. That pretty much solved his problem.

Even if it hadn't Lynnie and Benny wandering in would have. Every time Lynn saw Dad suiting up, she let out a long, pointed whistle. It was the only time Chuck ever saw his father blush. And it made Chuck vaguely nauseous. Even though he knew the gesture was some kind of inside joke between them. Theu finished up below the waist. Chuck relaxed. He'd gotten use to his body being embarrassing in front of the crew. There wasn't such thing as privacy for a ranger. It still sucked though.

Lynn wandered over to observe Theu, smiling warmly at Chuck. "Feel good?"

Theu pulled the sleeves up over Chuck's arms. "Yeah. I can't feel the wiring at all," Chuck said, light-headed with excitement as the suit was zipped close. "It's bloody amazing."

"Thank you!" Theu said brightly as he adjusted the top. "I stitched most of it in myself. Lynn did the rest." He stepped back. "Go ahead an run through some forms for me." Chuck quickly adjusted his feet in the under boots and started stepping through the first Jaeger kata. Theu huffed, pursing his lips. "It's not sitting quite right. Bladdy hell."

Lynn shook her head is disbelief. "Did you think I gave you that hair dryer for your head, you blond bastard?"

"Heat shrinking," Theu muttered, flushing red. "Kak. I'll be right back, laaitie. I'm so sorry about this."

"It's fine, Theu," Chuck said hurriedly. He was trying to hide the adrenaline shakes from excitement of feeling the fabric move over his skin as he went through combat positions. "Just… Hurry?" Theu nodded frantically as he sprinted out of the drivesuit room for his quarters.

Lynn laughed softly. "Dumb bastard. Come here, sprog. Let's check his work shall we?" She reached out, and Chuck obediently stepped into her hands. He didn't have any clear memories of his mother's. Those moments Mom had held him or pulled him close had blurred long ago with Lynn's confident, firm touch as she checked his gear.

"Thought you said you weren't gonna be my technician, Carpenter," Chuck teased, stumbling a little over her last name, but he was a Ranger now. And Dad always called Lynnie by her surname when speaking to her directly.

"Shut your gob, before I shut it for you, Red," Lynn ordered as she finished inspecting the fitting straps. "Van Zyl did a good job. Shouldn't chafe." She scooped him into a tight hug, pressing him close like she could squeeze out the shakes. Chuck didn't fight. Instead, he hugged her back hard enough to lift her off her feet. If he could, he would have Lynn and Theu thread these wires through his skin with their steady, scarred fingers. Neither of them would agree. In fact, Lynn would probably put him over her knee like he was twelve again if he brought it up. But just pressing the designs into his body with the hug didn't seem like quite enough. "You're gonna break me, kiddo." Lynn said gently, her hand in his hair. "Put me down now."

Chuck gently placed her back on the floor, already calmer. She and Theu were the only one who allowed him to hug them like he wanted. Dad didn't like being touched, and Benny was too heavy to lift. "You're my Old Lady now, but you aren't old, Carpenter."

"You're a beaut," she said, ruffling his hair. "Now straighten up. We gotta get that suit fit to a ranger." She moved his limbs out spread eagle. So Theu, blow dryer in hand, could tighten the fabric around Chuck's hips and wrists.

"I'm so sorry about that," Theu muttered as he started to hook the armor in place around Chuck's chest.

Chuck exhaled against the pressured of the plates. "If something had to go wrong, best it was that," he whispered back. There was a buzz of electric drill equipped with the tightening head that closed the armor around him. Then Chuck was fully locked into his drive suit as Theu pushed his helmet over his head and clicked it into palce at the back of his neck. The only thing left was the spine.

"Be gentle now," Benny drawled out tensely as Theu lifted the spine from it's foam box. "First time being wired ken hurt."

"I'm fine," Chuck said rolling his eyes. His impatience was cut short by a gasp as the spine locked into place. It felt like needles piercing his spine even though it was just a residual surge through the circuits as the spine discharged its storage capacitor, a safety feature to prevent damaged spines from being used. No shock, the spine was bad. Theu propped him upright until his nerves stopped tingling. The silence in the drivesuit room was heavy when his breathing finally slowed. "I'm fine," Chuck repeated. "We ready to do this?"

Theu slapped Chuck's shoulder. "Now, we are. Striker's waiting for you, laaitie."

3) Lynn Carpenter - Senior technician, 'Old Lady', 

"Herc," Scott said tightly over the radio. "Get down to the launch bay. Your dipstick of a Jaeger engineer is trying to kill my nephew."

"Go fuck yourself, Hansen," Carpenter yelled from the background. "We're having fun!"

That didn't reassure Herc in the least. Carpenter was far more reliable than Scott about most thing, but she and Benny Broussard had a propensity for including Chuck in some of their crazier plans. He pulled on a t-shirt and boots before heading for the bay. God knew he didn't need any more shit from Lynn outside the drivesuit room.

His heart did its level best to stop in his chest. Chuck was easily a hundred feet in the air, struggling to find his way up Lucky Seven's hip. He wasn't wearing a harness just a tool belt and a chalk bag. Lynn was climbing next to him on a line. The crew sometimes free climbed the Jaeger when they were in a hurry. One time when the conn-pod hadn't attached properly, Lynn had free climbed the entirety of Lucky Seven to kick the hydraulics into alignment.

Chuck had been on the ground crew that day, but he'd seen it. Like any thirteen year old boy, he'd begged to emulate it. Everyone had put the kibosh on that idea. Chuck was a strong climber, but he always wore a full harness while he scrambled over Lucky. Apparently Chuck being accepted into the training academy had nullified Lynn's initial ban.

In a smooth swing, Chuck threw himself three feet to another handhold. Herc nearly screamed. Then Lynn was right there next to his boy. Her hand was on the small of Chuck's back, checking his stability. Her mouth moved. Herc couldn't hear it, but her expression suggested she was giving Chuck further instructions. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed less out of control.

Scott was standing sulkily at end of Lucky's toe with Benny Broussard. Broussard was staring down Herc's brother and winning. Herc ambled over, hands in his pockets. "Frenchie, why the fuck is my boy up a Jaeger without harness?"

"First, an' most importantly," Broussard said with narrowed eyes. "I'm from Louisiana, not France. Second, we asked Little Red what 'e wanted as a graduation present. He wanted to climb Lucky all by 'isself." Above them, Lynn wrapped an arm around Chuck's waist to support him while she adjusted his handholds. "Van Zyl's up top with a safety rig jus' in case."

"Ah," Herc said, inhaling slowly. "So that's why my only son is hanging off the side of a Jaeger by his fingertips with no fall protection?"

Broussard rolled his eyes. "Go to Herc, Max," he ordered the bulldog at his feet. " He's being an ass. Lynnie would never let our boy fall."

Herc knelt down and scratched Max's ears until the dog grunted with pleasure. "This is really what he wanted?" Broussard nodded sympathetically. "Then let's get some beers and food for when they get down." Scott choked a litte. Herc glared at his brother. "We didn't even think to have a goddamn dinner for him before he leaves for Alaska. If climbing Lucky Seven makes him happy. Then let's at least have something like a party waiting for him afterwards."

Chuck perched on Lucky's head, staring out through the open launch bay doors. Lynn was crouched behind him with a protective arm around his waist. His arms hurt like he'd tried to pull them out of their sockets. He leaned back against Lynn, flexing the spasming muscles. Her hands, calloused rough and warm, pressed down over his aching biceps. "You'll be fine, Red," she said, leaning her chin on top of his head. "You're going to be bloody amazing. We'll be waiting for you here. With the Mark V ready for you and your co-pilot."

"What about Dad?" Chuck asked, staring hard into the red sun. "He's fucking miserable, Lynnie. He yelled at Max this morning."

"Jesus," Lynn sighed. "Herc is never gonna be a happy man, but it's not you that's making him cranky. He and your uncle lost a handshake yesterday. It just… dissolved. LOCCENT has no idea what happened, and those two yobbos aren't talking." She squeezed his arms. "That's why they didn't think do something special for dinner last night. Too caught up in their own horseshit."

Chuck turned, tucking his face into her neck. "Can we stay with Lucky tonight?"

"Sure, Red," Lynn murmured. "One last night as a Jaeger baby. But when you're a ranger, we can't do that anymore. Jaeger babies have to grow up if they want to fight kaiju." Her mouth was pressed into a thin, unhappy line. "You don't have to go. We're all proud of you for becoming a ranger, but all of us would be just as proud if you stayed on to become a technician."

"I want to be a ranger more than anything else," Chuck said fiercely. "I want to /hurt/ those cunts, Lynnie."

Lynn nodded. "Okay. Well, do you want to take the easy way down now that you're up here? If we hurry, the commissary will still be serving hot food." Chuck turned, hooking his legs around Lynn's waist. Lynn leaned back against her harness as he leaned forward, a balancing act Chuck had gotten used to. It was only recently he'd been trusted with his own full rig. The last few years, he'd hitched rides up and down straddling another technician. "Oof," Lynn teased as they started down. She regulated their speed with her motorized ascender/descender. "You're getting too big for this."

Chuck didn't laugh. He laid flat against her, twisting himself around the ropes attached to her harness. Quietly, so he was barely audible over the whine of the motors, he whispered, "You'll still love me when I'm a ranger, right?"

A hand, big for woman's, cupped the back of his head. "You're the only sprog I ever want, Chuck. I'm building you a Jaeger. Of course, I'll still love you when I'm strapping you in it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benny lapses into Cajun sometimes. Theu does the same in Afrikaans. Lynn Carpenter is Australian, as is Reicha Gujjar.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five stories of Herc Hansen being protective. One of what happens when he's betrayed by someone he protected. Warnings for Aussie language. Also, Lynn's phobia is my own. I deal with it the same way she does. (Fall protection is my blankie, even when I'm not clipped in.)

1) The Wei Brother's

The Wei boys were rock stars. They had it all for boys who'd grown up fighting for scraps in a bad part of town. The Chinese government had built their brand like they'd built Crimson Typhoon. Despite that, the triplets were three of the sweetest boys Herc ever had the pleasure of training with. They actually volunteered to face off against him and Chuck in the Kwoon room when Chuck needed to calm down. He liked them, respected them, and would happily fight for them.

It was instinct to come running when he heard their useless bastard of a father was back to guilt them out of what they'd carved out for themselves. Stacker had held off the man for as long as possible, but the Hong Kong Shatterdome remained open by the grace of the Chinese government. It turned out the Wei's father had made some friends there. Enough Stacker could only stall not stop. The message itself had come from Lynn Carpenter via Crimson Typhoon's drivesuit crew. "Please do something. They're scared."

Herc had pulled on his leather flight jacket with Striker's logo on the back and tucked a knife into his boot before running to the VIP suite where Stacker stored guests he didn't want wandering around. He knew what he looked like as he banged through the door in his combat boots with a two day beard on his chin. To the clean suits of the Chinese officials and the small man in well-patched Western clothing, Herc looked something out of a late night movie, dangerous and prone to violent outbursts.

Stacker raised a pointed eyebrow. Herc flashed him some fang in a something that wasn't a smile. "Boys," he said, thickening his accent. Jin was standing defensively in front his brother's, but they all looked overwhelmed. "Come here." The words were an order, one the brothers had heard often enough to be familiar with it in English.

They moved like birds taking flight, scattering around the men in suits with fake smiles and the little, harsh man who'd abandoned them because he didn't want to pay a fine. Herc set his back to the door. The triplets gathered behind him with easy access to an escape route. "What the hell, sir?" Herc told, not asked, Stacker pointedly. He felt a feather light tug on his jacket. It was probably Hu, the most timid of the brothers. He sometimes tugged on the technicians' belts and sleeves when he wanted to get their attention but couldn't speak.

"Excuse me," one of the men in the suits asked politely. "Who are you?" He didn't look impressed. Herc planned to change that.

"Ranger Hercules Hansen of Striker Eureka, " Herc barked. "I'm the Ranger group commander as well." It wasn't an official title, but Herc was the most senior ranger and took responsibility for the others more often than not, and, unlike Stacker, he wasn't political enough to have his hands tied. "Why the hell wasn't I informed my rangers were being questioned by government officials?"

Stacker was good enough the smirk in his eyes didn't reach his mouth. "I apologize for the oversight, Ranger Hansen," Stacker said pleasantly. "But you're here now. Please join us."

Behind him, Herc could sense the ripple of relief from the brothers. They knew he'd fight this to a stand still or kill someone trying. He could feel them moving behind him, close enough to brush against the leather of his jacket. With a feral smile, Herc nodded. "I will. Thank you, sir." The boys didn't need to know English to understand the implied threat to men trying to use them.

2) Sasha Kaidanovsky

When they moved the last of the Jaegers to Hong Kong, the imported rangers had to go through full physicals. Shatterdomes generally had a good infirmary and a regime of vaccines and clinical controls to stop low level fevers and flus from wiping out entire crews when they were needed. Still, they were immigrants of a sort, and Stacker didn't want to ruffle feathers.

Chuck and Herc arrived with Striker. The Jaeger was being delivered to the half of the crew who'd gone onto Hong Kong while the Sydney Shatterdome was being decommissioned by those who chose to stay behind. Chuck and Herc had stayed with her, trusting Carpenter's team to have everything ready when they arrived. Striker's team had consisted originally of two permanent shifts of ten people with Carpenter running it. They brought in supplemental technicians as required. Out of twenty-one full time crew, they'd lost a third. Then Broussard had taken four of his crew with him when he started working with Mako Mori to restore Gipsy Danger. No one was going to argue he deserved the promotion, but it left Striker with a single shift of ten to maintain her. Only five of Vulcan Specter's crew chose exile in Hong Kong. Broussard got them as well in the name of fairness.

Herc knew his boy was taking the loss hard. Most of the crew that crossed the ocean were Lucky Seven veterans, but a two of seven who stayed behind were only a few years older than Chuck. The three of them had been close enough Herc held out hope his son had significant others. Apparently, it was a vain hope. Chuck had fallen into a sulk after the point crew left, withdrawing from his friends and snapping at Herc more than normal. Herc figured he'd unknot himself once he was back with the crew who'd become his family.

Still, their medical examination to get out of quarantine and into the Hong Kong Shatterdome was the most excruciating of Herc's life. Chuck was in full diva mode with no techs around to knock him out of it. Around civilians and other rangers, his boy was the worst of bad habits that came from being a Jaeger pilot. Herc had only himself to blame for that. Technicians had a very unflattering view of rangers as a species, same as the mechanics when Herc was piloting helicopters. Their prejudices had informed a lot of Chuck's public behavior.

Herc had retreated to the hall to dress while a long-suffering NP finished Chuck's exam. He was slipping on his boots when he heard a muffled choking noise. He followed the noise, which sounded sickeningly like a distressed child's, to an exam room at the end of the hall, pulling on his jacket without bothering with his undershirt. The door was opened a crack. There was no light on. So Herc opened it further with a tap to let in the ambient light from the hall. He reeled back as something hit him, trying to force him away. It took him a moment to decipher the yowls as Russian.

"Hey," Herc said, lowering his voice as he dodged. "Hey! I just came to see if you were alright." He raised his hands slowly. "You aren't."

The woman, Sasha Kaidanovsky, the Winter Witch, didn't look anything like her usual fierce self. The bold make-up she wore like warpaint was smeared, and her mouth looked thinner with the blood red lipstick chewed off. For some reason, she reminded him of Angela, painfully real and strong even as she shattered. Even her white blond hair, usually several slicked back, hung loose and soft around her face. She shot him a look of pure hatred.

"You look like my wife," Herc said, not quite sure why. The words left him gasping against a stab of pain beneath his ribs. "She hated crying too. Whenever we'd go somewhere she thought she might cry, she'd put on black eyeliner. Said it was impossible to cry in public when you might smear your makeup."

Sasha backed up little, shoulders relaxing. "Your wife was a wise woman." She reach up and touched her fingers to the dark mess that had dripped down her cheeks. Her face flushed dull red.

Herc handed her the undershirt in his hands. "It's mostly clean."

Stiffly, she accepted his offering. Herc politely averted his eyes as she scrubbed off the remains of her makeup. "Go ahead and keep it," he said when tried to hand it back. "I know handkerchiefs are hard to come by. That'll make you a few a good ones. Welcome to the Shatterdome."

That startled a laugh from Sasha. "You are Herc Hansen of Striker Eureka?"

"The accent?" Herc asked wryly. "Yeah. My boy's finishing up down the hall." He raised an eyebrow at her. "How about you?"

"Sasha Kaidonovsky of Cherno Alpha. I get bad news," she said her voice hard and tired. "I do not wish to tell husband. It will hurt him."

Herc shook his head. "Not more than you crying would, Ranger. Nothing rips out a man's heart like the woman he loves hurting alone." If she'd been any other woman, he would have offered to hug her, but she was Russia's iron protector. That kind of vulnerability was not something she could afford. He respected her resolve.

They stood together awkwardly. Herc wasn't sure what she needed, but he didn't want to leave her alone until she was ready. "I will be alright," Sasha said softly after breathing deeply through her nose.

"Don't imagine you ever wouldn't be," Herc said, zipping up his jacket to midchest. "When my boy and I get settled in, you should bring your husband by. Chuck's a bit of a bastard, my fault, but he got his mum's gift for the kitchen. Without rationing, whatever he makes should be good."

Sasha seemed more amused than offended by his blatant desire to check up on her after she and her husband spoke. "Very well."

3) Striker's Crew (Lynn Carpenter)

The Hong Kong Shatterdome didn't have the same set up for the Jaeger bay as Sydney. Techs worked purely from scaffolding with only the cranes used to handle the Jaegers hanging lines from the roof. Striker's crew used those crane lines in place of their old rigs. They'd had to modify the safety catches on their harnesses to fit the new line.

It didn't seem like a problem to Herc. Chuck was his window into the world of the technicians. When he wasn't fulfilling his ranger duties, he wore coveralls and a harness like the rest of the crew. If there had been a problem, the boy would have bitched about it. Which is why Herc could barely believe his eyes when one of the robotics technicians lost his balance and didn't stop short from his harness. The technician was nearly a hundred feet in the air. The fall was going to kill him.

Carpenter was checking welds on the knee joint. She dropped her flashlight and tool belt, pushing off to swing out and try to catch him. Striker's crew lived in their harnesses. Crossing lines and predicting each other in three dimensions were as natural as walking to them. Carpenter caught her man. He managed to hook an arm around her safety line. It looked like the worse casualty was going to be a sprained wrist. Then there was the scream of metal, and Carpenter's primary hook-in clip tore away from the crane line.

"Christ," Chuck said from behind his father. "Those safety clips aren't rated for two people." He charged past with three other technicians, headed for the safety net with the others. Herc moved behind him as they snapped into place beneath Lynn.

Hanging from the end of her safety tether, Lynn and her man were still easily seventy feet above the floor. Lynn was hanging nearly upside down trying to give her crewman a better handhold to grasp. There was the faint echoes of their voices when she spotted the safety net beneath them. The technician braced himself then let go, tumbling down towards the net. The men and women manning the net caught him, yanking him out of the way as soon as it was safe.

He was one of the new bloods promoted up from the temporary crew, staggering around as he tried to find his balance. "Her quick release isn't working," he told Chuck. "She's going to have to dump her whole harness."

"Buggerin' fuck," Chuck snarled. "Fuck!" Several of the crew veterans also looked unhappy. "Okay. Let's go get her."

"What?" Herc demanded. "Are the closures on her harness locked?"

Theu, Chuck's drivesuit technician, snorted. "No. Lynn's bloody terrified of heights. The only reason she gets up on the Jaeger every day is that harness. She even wears it when she's free climbing. It's her teddy bear."

Chuck hissed at him. "It's fine. We're just not going to be able to get her down unless someone goes up there and cuts that line."

"She's got her headset on? Give me yours," Herc demanded. He didn't have one of the small radio headsets the crew used to communicate with each other. 

"Of course," Chuck said sharply. He pulled off his and handed it over when Herc held out his hand. "Buttons on the earpiece. Key into a private channel with surname followed by 'single'."

Herc nodded, slipping on the headset. He pressed the button on the earpiece and said, "Carpenter, single."

A mechanical voice replied, "On private channel with Lynn Carpenter."

"Lynnie?" Herc said, opening the channel. He could hear her breathing heavily. "Lynnie, sweetheart, you there?"

"Since when was I your 'sweetheart', Hansen," Carpenter growled over the radio.

"Since you ended up lookin' like a side of mutton," Herc tipped his head back, but she was swaying too much to make eye contact. "You need to get out of that harness, girlie."

Lynn was silent, gasping, then she muttered, "Fuck you. I can't."

"Yes, you can, Lynnie," Herc said firmly. "You can. We're gonna catch you, sweetheart."

"Fuck, Herc, I can't. I can't make my bloody fingers move." He'd never heard his senior technician sound terrified before. Not even when a Cat 2 made a run at the shatterdome.

Herc turned away from his audience to hide their conversation. "Carpenter, don't give me that. You're the most stubborn cunt of a woman I know. I'm gonna tell you what do, and you're gonna do it. Because I'm your fuckin' ranger."

Lynn choked out something like a laugh. "Okay. Okay, Hansen. I won't kick your ass this once."

"Glad we agree on something," Herc said, waving Chuck over. "First thing, get your right hand off that safety line. You're gonna to need it."

"If this ends up with you telling me to unzip my coveralls, I'll kill you, bastard," Lynn growled, but she peeled her clenched fingers off the line and waved her free arm down at them.

Herc barked out a laugh. "Stop giving me ideas, sweetheart. I might take you up on them. Now unclip the…" He examined Chuck's harness. "Chest buckle."

Lynn flailed then said. "Done."

"Now, your left leg. Hang on tight," Herc said, looking up at her. "More than halfway there." Lynn released the strap around her left leg. "Okay. Now here's the hard bit. You're going to hit the buckle on your right leg. You'll fall, but we'll catch you."

A hard smack freed Lynn's right leg, but she didn't fall, clinging too hard to the safety line. "Lynnie, don't make me come up there and break your bloody fingers," Herc snapped.

"Fuck you, Herc." Lynn let go.

4) Mako Mori

"Stacker," Herc asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "What the bloody hell is going on?" He took in the smears of vomit on Stacker's shirt. "The girl's sick, huh?"

Stacker rubbed a hand across his face. "She won't stop crying. Herc, I'm not sure what I can do to help her."

"Make sure she stays hydrated and rub her back," Herc mumbled. "She's just a tired, scared girl, mate. She wants cuddles and some juice. And she'll calm right down." Stacker didn't look any less helpless. "Or I'll come with," Herc sighed. "Let me get some of Chuck's discs. Those bloody toddler shows are nightmarish, but the anklebiters like'em." He gathered the discs he'd scrounged for his boy and some of the apple juice he kept in his quarters for when Angela brought the kid around and shoved them in a small duffle.

Mako didn't look too bad. Her tiny face was flushed red, and she whimpered softly as she cried. She made a distressed noise when she saw Herc. "It's okay, love," Herc said, setting his bag to the side. "It's okay. Does she speak English?"

"Not well," Stacker replied sounding vaguely offended. He switched to Japanese, walking over to lay a hand on the girl's forehead. Herc heard his own name and made sure his smile was slight. He was a big bloke, and unlike Stacker he looked mean. His red hair couldn't help either considering the little girl had probably never been outside of Tokyo before Onibaba. He waited for Stacker to calm her down, using the time to check the on the supply of empty buckets and clean linens. There was a glass of water on the table, but no straw. Out of the duffel, actually Herc's Chuck duffel, he pulled out a crazy straw and dropped it in the glass. Hopefully that would make it easier for her hydrate.

"Okay," Herc said quietly as the girl calmed down. "Stacker, go ahead and tell her I need to a take a look at her. Check on her fever and that sort of thing." Stacker nodded and spoke to the girl. Herc sat down on the edge of the bed, delicately tugging the covers away from her. She sweaty and flushed on her arms and down to the neck of Stacker's t-shirt she was using as night gown. "There we are," Herc said levelly but kindly. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and cheeks. She was still warm. A careful pinch to her forearm showed a little bit of dehydration as well.

Herc offered her the glass of water, smiling as her eyes lit up on seeing the straw. "Get that down you," Herc said, helping her wrap her hands around the glass. The water sloshed as she slurped eagerly. Resettling the blankets around her, he smiled at Stacker. "She's fine. Still a bit feverish and dehydrated." He paused as Mako climbed across him to put her cup on the nightstand. Rather than retreat back under the covers, she hesitantly curled up in Herc's lap, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes.

"Feeling up to cuddles, are we?" Herc murmured with a laugh. "Okay." He wrapped an arm around her and moved further onto the bed. "Have you tried holding her at all? I know she's older, but sick kids want a bit of coddling."

"No," Stacker said, flushing. "I didn't think. She keeps insisting she's fine."

Herc rubbed Mako's back slowly. "She is, but it never hurts." He shifted Mako's weight further onto his chest. So she could put her ear over his heart. "You want to swap out? It'd make her happy." Stacker's lips pursed. "You're being called up?" Herc said gruffly. "Shit, mate, why didn't you just say?"

"If she's very sick, I wasn't going to go," Stacker said, reaching out to smooth Mako's hair. "However, I don't have that excuse if it's just a childhood illness."

"Go gut those suits, sir," Herc said pulling one of the blankets over Mako. "I'll take care of her until you get back."

As Stacker went around the room, changing into his uniform, Mako stirred. She sat up and spoke in Japanese. Stacker replied in the same language. The girl sighed and snuggled back down into Herc. The ranger smiled and continued rubbing her back, dropping a kiss into her sweaty hair. "Your sensei will be back soon enough, love. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you while he's gone."

5) Tendo Choi

Tendo was about to get his ass kicked. Allison was wonderful, attractive, and her boyfriend was an ass. He'd been trying to win them both over, but Bobby wasn't having it. Honestly, it wasn't the first time Tendo had gone out with Allison, a specialist in drift stabilization. Her boyfriend last she'd been up at the Icebox had been a big, friendly Hawaiian aviator. The three of them had a lot of fun before Manny's Jumphawk had gotten on the wrong side of a kaiju.

Allison left, not that Tendo blamed her. Manny was worth grieving hard for. She came back with a surly Brit in tow. Tendo had hoped to pick up where they left off, because there weren't many people who could do hardware to wetware debates over a pillow like Allison. Except that Bobby seemed completely unimpressed by Tendo's charm. The infamous date happened anyways, and Allison broke up with Bobby over dinner. Which all led to Tendo about to end up a greasy spot of the floor via a former rugby player.

Tendo was hardly helpless. He'd always been a scrapper, but he was smart enough to know Bobby's stupidly large shoulders between him and door were no small obstacle. He was dropping into fighting crouch when Herc Hansen growled, "What the hell is going on here?"

Bobby was obviously too dumb to live, because he asked a ranger, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Ranger Hercules Hansen of Striker Eureka," Herc snarled. "And you're Allison Kelly's useless blodger of an ex. If you've got any brains that aren't pickled, walk the fuck away. Now." He then ignored the man, whose face was quickly turning tomato red. "Tendo. The Marshal wants you."

"Yes, Ranger," Tendo said, straightening up. This wasn't Herc, the genial Australian, who'd ridden to the rescue. Right now, he was Pentecost's second. Tendo tried to slip past Bobby. When the big technician blocked him, Herc moved on the idiot. Hard. Bobby ended sprawled next the baseboard of the wall. Even though Herc was a half foot shorter, rangers didn't loose fights. Quickly, Tendo stepped around Bobby into the hall.

"Dismissed," Herc barked at Tendo. He remained in the hall, feet spread apart in the starting position of a kata. Tendo nodded sharply and headed for Pentecost's office at a fast clip. Behind him, he heard Herc say, "You were threatening a LOCCENT controller over a failed fucking romance?" in a harsh, military tone.

Tendo made it to Pentecost's office to run into the man himself in the corridor. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"No," Pentecost said, looking up from his file in surprise. "Not until the staff meeting this evening."

"Ranger Hansen…" Tendo broke off, rolling his eyes. "Sorry about bothering you, sir." Pentecost actually looked amused.

6) Sydney (Scott Hansen Betrays Herc)

"Don't you dare give up on me, Scott," Herc snarled as Lucky Seven listed hard to the left. "Don't you fuckin' dare. We gonna kill this fucker before it gets to our city."

Scott was crying in his helmet. "Herc, I'm sorry. I'm /sorry/."

"I don't give two shits, you little cunt," Herc said through bared teeth. "I'll kill you after we're finished here. I'm not losing this city."

There was another sob as Scott tried to break the handshake. Herc wouldn't let him, holding on tightly even as the bottom of his stomach dropped out. He didn't want to hurt Scott Or, at least, he didn't used to want to hurt his brother. The flash of memory he'd received through the drift was sickeningly strong. Now, he wanted to beat Scott until his little brother couldn't move. Scott could feel the caustic, bloodthirsty hate years of protective affection had soured to in a instant. Herc hoped it felt as much like eating acid as it did in his own throat.

Lucky Seven righted himself as Herc forced Scott to continue to fight, seething in their drift gone hostile. "If we kill this kaiju, Scotty," Herc said over LOCCENT's screaming about the destabilizing neural handshake. "I won't kill you. So suck it up, little brother. I know you're too much of a fucking coward to die."

Crying hard enough Herc's eyes were tearing up, Scott whispered, "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Lucky turned and slammed both fists into the kaiju. The drift stabilized, but it was no longer a current of mixed memories forged into one consciousness. Herc used his brother like a slaved computer, pushing through data but giving him no control. It wasn't something Lightfoot ever discussed with her rangers, but everyone knew it was possible. A lot rangers used it deal with panic attacks or PTSD flashbacks in the conn-pod. It only worked if one person was significantly stronger willed than the other or the party being controlled was willing. Herc just bulldozed Scott.

Lucky finished fight. Herc walked him back to the Shatterdome and left his brother vomiting in the conn-pod. He hadn't been gentle when he'd broken the handshake. Carpenter was waiting for him. Obviously the trouble with the handshake was enough to deserve Broussard's presence as well. "So…" Carpenter rolled over her tongue.

"Get him out of here by tonight. Or I'll finish the job," Herc said flatly.

Broussard's eyes went wide. Carpenter sucked hard on her front teeth. "Why don't you and Little Red go to commissary and celebrate," Broussard drawled. "We'll take out the trash"

Herc nodded jerkily. "Don't be gentle."

"Yes, sir," Carpenter said, popping her tongue against her teeth. "It'll be our pleasure."


	8. Slice of Life Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone at some point asked for a brief scene where Raleigh gets a glimpse of Chuck interacting with the technicians. This is a short based on that. This takes place during the repair period that would have had to occur before Striker Eureka and Gipsy Danger could charge the Breach.

"Why the hell is Chuck Hansen welding seams on Gipsy?" Raleigh asked Mako, looking down off the catwalk to where the other Ranger was hanging by a harness, welding patch panels over the stress cracks on Gipsy Danger's upper leg.

Mako didn't look up from her laptop as she replied, "He qualified as an apprentice welder at thirteen. He's easily one of the fastest welders in the Shatterdome. The senior technician of Striker's crew sent him over so the repairs would be done on schedule. Striker Eureka's damage was primarily electrical."

"You're telling me hotshot over there does tech work?" Raleigh asked, startled. He'd always respected his technicians. They were the ones who kept his lady happy and in good repair, but there was a distinct social separation between Rangers and their crews. It was hard to imagine a cocky son of a bitch like Chuck toiling away at the thankless work it took to keep a Jaeger running.

His incredulity made Mako raise her head from her screen. "He was raised in a Shatterdome, Raleigh," she said tartly. "We took classes over a satellite uplink. Ranger Hansen couldn't bring Chuck with him as he worked like Sensei could with me. So after class, Chuck would go help the crew. He taught me how to do minor repairs when we were still children."

Raleigh settled down next to her, bumping shoulders affectionately. "I didn't know you were friends."

"He's a bastard," Mako replied matter of factly, her accent listing a little on the profanity. "But yes, we are friends. I still hit him a lot though. Even when we were small." Raleigh bit back a laugh, leaning his forehead against her shoulder as she worked. Mako was testing the remote links that let LOCCENT monitor the pons activity of the Jaegers. It was all far above Raleigh's own capabilities. Even though he'd worked as a welder on the Wall, he didn't have the skill to weld specialized materials or work in the hanging rigs used to repair a Jaeger's armor. He'd offered of course, but Broussard had politely turned him down.

From somewhere on the other side of the Jaeger bay, a low clang sounded, signaling a shift change. Broussard and the other senior technicians began shooing away their crews towards the commissary for food. It was the count down to win or lose forever. There was no room for errors made in exhaustion. So the crews were on strict twelve hour shifts. Two hours to eat then bed. There were pills for those who needed the help to rest. Raleigh, Mako, and the other rangers were on Alpha shift. Waiting really was the hardest part of this apocalypse, but they needed fully functional Jaegers before charging the Breach.

Raleigh leaned over the railing to watch as the short, dark woman who ran Striker Eureka's crew with an iron fist slide down a line to the lowest catwalk before unhooking her harness. She shielded her eyes as she looked up at Chuck then yelled, "Tucker's on, Little Red. Get your arse in gear. You've been flat out like a lizard drinking since shift stared."

Chuck finished his weld and started shutting his rig down. He left it to cool, waiting for his counterpart from Beta shift to com finish the job. He hooked his harness onto a line and unhooked himself from Gipsy before climbing over to the catwalk where she was at. "You don't have to wait up, Lynnie," he said petulantly. "I can find my own way to the commissary these days."

"Just because you aren't hanging off one of my safety ties like a spare wrench doesn't mean I can't walk you to supper, sprog," Carpenter said, ruffling his hair. "Now, you got your dillybag?"

"You know, when I finally was taller than you, I though you'd stop acting like I was in kindie," Chuck said philosophically as he patted the large, all purpose pouch hanging from the back of his tool belt. "I'm a ranger now. I don’t go around losing my bloody dillybag anymore."

Carpenter laughed. "Don't fool yourself. You left your dillybag in Sydney during the Hong Kong transfer. So yeah, Red, I'm going to be asking after that bag until the day I die." She reached over and hooked the clip from both lines on his harness to a D-ring on his chest strap to keep them out of the way. "Come on, I could eat a horse and chase the jockey. Those blokes tend to be on the skinny side though. So we might have to find you a couple of them."

"Prefer a bacon sammie," Chuck muttered following her down the catwalk. "Or a Vegemite and cheese."

"Don't think the kitchen has any bacon," Carpenter said, her voice muffled by the steel and fading fast. "But I can do you the second." Chuck's reply was inaudible.

"He's usually more like that and less like he has been," Mako said quietly from Raleigh's side. There was a frown between her brows. "Miss Carpenter will speak to him, and he will apologize before we end this war. He would not want to leave us on bad terms…" It was easy to read between her words that she didn’t want one of them to die while they were still angry at each other.

Raleigh wrapped an arm around her waist in a half-hug. "He'll apologize, Mako-chan. You're friends. He'll want to make sure you know that before we go slay dragons together."


	9. Five Secrets in the Sydney Shatterdome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This short answers some of the implications made in my other stories. There's a lot going on beneath the surface with Lucky's/Striker's crew. Not all of it is happy and familial.

1) Benny's in love. There's a boy from the states, a man really, with poison green eyes. Benny met him on the job after an accident at the mine. He was one of the paramedics who took an injured miner to the hospital. There wasn't a grand romance or love at first sight, but it runs deep and consumes them both in the best ways. It is patient, kind, and abides despite the strength and independence of their personalities.

Dean went to Manila in February of 2014 as part of the relief effort. Manila was where the aid workers' water supplies ended up contaminated with kaiju blue, before K.B. filters were invented. He fell off the grid there, most likely buried in a mass grave with the rest of the poisoned. There hadn't been time to identify the bodies or separate the refugees from their rescuers. Benny still writes letters to Dean and pays the fee to have them air mailed to other man's apartment in Coushatta, Louisiana . He hasn't had a letter back yet, but he'll keep writing until their both home again.

2) Theu's dying. It's radiation poisoning even though he's on a stringent, high dosage anti-rad regime. The doctors think that his exposure to kaiju blue made the drugs less effective in the critical first two years of working on Lucky Seven with the minimally shielded reactor. It's Scissure that's going to kill him really. The Aussies blasted so many holes in the monster over such a great area the blue was swept along with the current and some ended up on the beaches of Africa. Including Port Shepstone, where Theu and his classmates were exposed during a day on the beach.

He's not the only one. Anmari on Vulcan Specter's crew was there too. They were classmates with friends in common. The sleeves of her grey coveralls are permanently rusty brown. Theu's just grateful Lucky's crew was issued dark blue instead. The stains on his cuffs are less obvious. He doesn't tell Lynn or even Chuck the truth. Instead, he ducks his head when their accents surprise him, and he can't quite hide the anger.

3) Jan Schulte has two daughters. His wife is a historian. She and girls live in Quedlinburg, where she works at the Castle Museum. Lynn Carpenter doesn't know about Gretchen, Annette, and Anneliese. If she did, she wouldn't be sleeping with him.

Lynn Carpenter is not always nice and can be cruel to those outside her family, but she is a creature of loyalty. While she dances around politicians who come to see her Jaegers with the best of them, she's blind to her friends. Lynn took him at his word he was available when he asked her to come back to his quarters. Jan's not sure what would happen if she found out he made her an adulterer, but he is sure the Hansens would use him as kaiju bait.

4) Lynn Carpenter hates Stacker Pentecost. It's a old grudge going back to the founding of the PPDC. Her biography on the PPDC website talks about her rescue work in Sydney and how she bravely volunteered for the Jaeger program while it was still just a glimmer in Lightcap's eye. It's a blatant lie. Lynn Carpenter was shanghaied into the Jaeger program.

She worked on the AI for the first generation of Drift technology as a civilian consultant. Her fee was two hundred and fifty US dollars an hour. Lightcap asked her to volunteer and continue the work when the money ran out. Lynn didn't care to stick around for the war and left after finishing the prototype for Yukon Brawler. Pentecost used his military connections with MI-6 to blackmail her into coming back as volunteer.

The cunts faked missing ketamine at her mother's veterinary clinic, enough to for an inspector to shut down the business indefinitely. The missing drugs magically reappeared when Lynn cut her hair, sold her nice house on the beach, took her dog to her mother's, and put all her worldly possessions in storage before going to serve her country as a Jaeger engineer. She bites her tongue every time she hears someone hold her up as an example in the recruiting drives. It's that or cry.

5) Chuck Hansen's a bastard. Herc Hansen has caused himself more head trauma trying to forget that than in combat training. There's a trick to holding back a memory the drift. It's about making it a rock in the stream the drift slides around rather than part of the channel the drift is flowing through. If done properly, only the person hiding it knows the memory is even there.

All Rangers do it a little bit. Usually, a Ranger suppresses their first impressions of their co-pilot during the calibration drift. Especially if the thoughts aren't very flattering. If they're compatible, they'll eventually stop suppressing, confident their partner can see through the mundane, human flaws to the person beneath. It's common courtesy, a smooth edge in an inherently rough and revealing process. However, these are small things, a flash, a second's worth of opinion. The bigger the memory the more energy and concentration it takes to suppress it. That kind of waste of resources can kill a drift in combat.

Frankly, Scott had amazing control to hold out on Herc as long as he did. It took coming to the end of their strength for Herc to shatter the rock in the stream of their drift, trying to get just a little more from the channel connecting them. He expected some childhood grudge and a trickle more connection. Instead, he and Scott synced so strongly their neural handshake looked like the Kaidonovskys on the readouts. In that moment, Herc was in bed with his wife again, Angela beautiful, drunk, and happy. Except the date was November 26th, 2002.

Herc was in Afghanistan with the 171st for most of 2002, until he made it home a week before Christmas to surprise his wife. Chuck was conceived during the welcome home proceedings, or at least, that's what Angela told him when she called, pregnancy test in hand. Herc never thought to question why his boy was so healthy despite being born early. He just wrote it off as another stroke of luck, unable to see anything but his son, clear eyed and yowling, in his arms.


	10. In Our Bedroom (After the War)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They survived, but the war is going to end up killing them anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depressing ficlet I wrote about what surviving the apocalypse means to Herc and crew of Striker Eureka. This follows the plot of the movie. So Chuck didn't make it.

All of the Mark I technicians were zombies, the walking dead with countdown clocks monitored by medical. There hadn't been any safety equipment in the early days. The technicians inhaled kaiju blue and were saturated with radiation. Rangers died of cancer, and people mourned. Herc knew the names of every man and woman who'd worked on Lucky Seven and was still breathing. All six. Lucky Seven's crew had started at fifty-seven souls in the days when the crews were fully staffed all the time. There had been treatments after the fact as everyone realized why experienced technicians were dropping like flies, but it only bought time. It would be a minor miracle of Carpenter saw fifty. Broussard wasn't going to see forty five. All of the technicians who'd raise Chuck expected the boy was going to bury them. Not the other way around.

So Herc was expecting this, but it didn't hurt any less when he saw Carpenter's duffle in the pile of luggage going on the Jumphawk. She and Broussard were standing shoulder to shoulder in the crowd of people waiting to board. Herc walked over slowly, Max following him. "Can I talk to you, Lynn?"

"Yeah," Carpenter said quietly, waving off Broussard. "They're having engine problems, forty minute delay. Your room?" Herc nodded and led the way to his quarters. He shut the door behind them before pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label. There were no glasses. So he poured it into mugs.

Carpenter took one and murmured, "Memories, huh?" She swirled the amber liquid and closed her eyes. "I can't stay, Herc. Our boy is gone, and it's killing me to look at you knowing he's never coming back."

"Yeah," Herc said thickly, taking a sip of his drink. "I figured. After what you said…" The liquor burned his split lip. "It should have been me. Jesus fucking Christ, it should have been me."

"It shouldn't have been either of you, any of us," Carpenter corrected. Her lashes were shiny as she tried to force back the tears. "Anyone except Little Red. I don't like failing. And to fail him… I'm going to Louisiana with Benny. He says he can get a job for me there."

Herc nodded, wiping his eyes absently. There was no shame between them at this point. They'd already seen the worst of each other. "You getting a leg over there then?"

With a snort, Carpenter shook her head. "Wrong plumbing, mate. He wants to find this boy he was copping a root with back before K-day. See if the fella made it through the war. I said I'd help." She sipped at her mug. "Theu's dying. We sent him back home a week ago with Ivan. Both of them got exposed to blue during the clean up. Seems this time it was just too much for Theu. His mum said she'd call when it's over. She'll take care of Ivan too when the time comes. Illya Galkin, Broussard's Russian, is in charge now. He'll let you know when Theu and Ivan pass."

"How bad are you and Broussard?" Herc asked, bracing himself.

Carpenter shrugged as she sipped. "Doc gave me ten years on the far side. Benny's got closer to five even. If you're still around, I'll come visit after I bury 'im. If you're not, I'll go home to wait it out with my family." Her smile was bitter. The night he'd found her in Chuck's bunk, cleaning up his boy's dirty clothes and straightening the toy Jaegers, she'd been rotten enough to spit directly into his face that he should be dead and her boy should be tucked under the covers she'd been smoothing. His mouth still ached from the punch she'd landed before he'd gotten her arms pinned.

She'd slept if off in Herc's bed, curled next to him. There hadn't been an apology. Lynn couldn't apologize for telling him what she was thinking. She did bring him ice for the split on his lip when she got herself some painkillers out of Herc's medicine cabinet. He'd hoped the fight meant she'd stay with him. He wasn't surprised he was wrong.

"And Jan?" Herc asked. She'd been fucking the German since Chuck's sixteenth birthday. It was almost a relationship by Shatterdome standards.

The smile twisted from angry to pained. Carpenter shrugged again. "I got the blue, Herc. He left for home after the doc gave me my number. I don't blame 'im. Ten years is nothing now that the war's over."

Herc nodded compulsively, reflexively. "After you bury Broussard, Lynnie, you come find me. Doc said if I don't have the blue by now, I'll make it to sixty at least. Plenty time to wait you out."

"How many women you gonna bury before you catch on we're bad news, Hercules?" Carpenter murmured into her mug.

"Aren't you the one who always says I'm three bangers short of barbie?" Herc replied just as softly with a wane smile. He handed her the rest of the bottle. "For the ride to Louisiana." She wrapped her fingers around the neck, and he pressed his palm over them, trapping her hand. "You come and find me when your clock starts ticking down, Lynn."

Lynn sighed. "Just because I was never your wife doesn't make the boy any less mine, ya bastard. Of course, I'll come back so you can bury me next to him. I just got to make sure Benny's taken care of first. He doesn't have any family." She jerked the bottle out of his hand. "Ta much. This is one tightarsed down payment, Hansen. I expect you'll do better when I make it back to Oz."

"I'll see what I can do," Herc promised. He grabbed her chin, holding her firmly in place to peck her on the mouth. "I'm pondering Western Australia, more room for Max. I'll send you the address when I've found us a home."

Lynn looked down at the dog leaning against her leg with a fond smile. "After Benny, I'll be there." She patted Herc's cheek and gave Max a thorough scritching before making a run for the repaired Jumphawk, bottle in hand.

Herc watched her help load the luggage into the Jumphawk, sitting on his balcony with Max in his lap. At the beginning, when Chuck had still hung from Lynn's harness by a safety strap, Lynn's hair had been long, glossy black always done up in a tight braid. Her cheeks had been round and plump with years of first world luxury. Now, Lynn's hair was shot through with silver, cropped short and frizzing from chemicals after the last lice outbreak. She'd weathered the lean years and severe rationing better than many, but there were still awkward angles where fat had once softened the edges. She'd once looked five years younger than her age. Now, she looked ten years older than forty six, face creased with exhaustion and grief. All those idealists they'd been back at the beginning, when they were going to save the world, wouldn't recognize the walking corpses that survived the aftermath. Even now it took Herc a long time to realize it was his own face he was seeing in the mirror in the morning.

Lynn was the last one on the Jumphawk, making sure all her people had a seat first. She turned and waved at Herc before the door closed, and Herc closed his eyes to slits as he lifted his hand in return. The sun was behind the Jumphawk, and he could see the flash a white teeth, the only thing that hadn't changed, before Lynn disappeared from view. He let his eyes slide all he way shut as the Jumphawk took off, the breeze from the rotors eddying against his face as it passed overhead. "Go with God, and come home soon, Lynnie."


End file.
